


An Education

by incognitotoro



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 17:30:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 122,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20642981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incognitotoro/pseuds/incognitotoro
Summary: Hermione was perfectly happy working her way up the ranks in Magical Policy, but she couldn’t exactly refuse the Minister for Magic himself when he asked her personally to help with the Muggle Society Integration Program.Of course she hadn’t expected her charge to be Draco Malfoy of all people, but she was a professional, dammit, not to mention a war hero. She just had to get through this one hellish week.It’s just one week. She could handle one week with Draco Malfoy, right?…Right?





	1. An Unusual Assignment

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so I had this really dumb (but really fun) idea for a one-shot, and several chapters later I realise that I apparently I am incapable of writing something short, so here we go.
> 
> I've only read the original books, I havn't seen any of the fantastic beasts movies or anything, so sorry if my lore is off at any point.
> 
> Constructive criticism and general comments very welcome!

Hermione sat on the plush seats outside the Minister for Magic's office. She wasn't sure why she'd been summoned, especially since she'd had a meeting with Kingsley just yesterday about the latest bill she was trying to push through about Werewolf rights, so she was even more confused when Harry turned up a few minutes later, looking harried.

"You too?" he asked, sitting down heavily beside her and stifling a yawn.

“I suppose so, do you know what this is about?”

“No, I thought it might be about the case I’m working at the moment, but I don’t see why he’d need you to be here if it was that.”

“Hmm, is it anything to do with werewolves?”

“No, why?”

“Just what I’m working on at the moment,” she shrugged, “Might’ve needed us to work together on something?”

“Maybe,” he said, sounding unconvinced as he yawned again, not trying to hide it this time. She smiled. All these years in a nine to five job and he still hadn’t got used to it, although it probably didn’t help that aurors tended to get dragged out to work at stupid hours on a fairly regular basis.

“Well, what do you-”

“Mr Potter, Ms Granger? The Minister is ready to see you.”

They exchanged a look and entered the office. She wasn’t sure why, but Hermione was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

***

“Ah, good morning, Ms Granger, Mr Potter.”

“Morning,”

“Morning, Minister,”

“Sit, please,” His voice was steady and he looked as friendly as ever, though he was a fairly taciturn man in general. “Did your bill get submitted without incident yesterday?”

“Er, yes, I submitted it to the Wizengamot after our meeting,”

“Excellent, and Mr Potter, how goes the Morrison case?”

“Good, it’s moving along.” Harry spoke slowly, as if he was trying to figure something out, “Would you like the monthly report early, sir?”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” Kingsley waved his concerns aside casually, and now Hermione was really suspicious, there was a look in his eye that made her feel horribly like she was about to be roped into something. It seemed that Harry had the same idea, because despite the fact that he was sitting in front of the leader of wizarding Britain, his eyes were narrowed in an expression that she recognised all too well from their school days. It was the look he got right before he was about to yell at a teacher, or hex someone, or do something else that was equally stupid and impulsive.

“Sir, why-?” She began, trying to resolve whatever this was before Harry made an idiot out of himself. Again. Not that he wouldn’t get away with it, of course, but she’d rather not be involved in an open confrontation with the Minister for Magic if she could avoid it. Thankfully, Kingsley cut her off before she could finish her question.

“Yes, I apologise for my vagueness in asking you both here. You’re aware of the Muggle Society Integration Program?”

It was a statement rather than a question, but Hermione had never quite grown out of the compulsion to be the first to answer.

“It’s designed to help pure-blood wizard and witches overcome ignorant and damaging beliefs about muggles by shadowing a ministry agent who works within the muggle world, therefore normalising the muggle world and showing that muggles are different but not lesser.” She recited.

“Impeccable as always,” said Kingsley, to which Harry snorted shamelessly.

“But what does this have to do with us?” she asked, ignoring Harry’s smirk.

“Well, are you aware that many of the participants in the Program are enrolled as part of their- ah- rehabilitation?”

Harry snorted again, this time with no trace of humour.

“And by rehabilitation, you mean that they’re trying to make up for coming down on the wrong side of the war?” He said derisively.

“Those who were, as you so bluntly put, ‘on the wrong side’, have been punished accordingly, I believe you yourself were present at many of the trials, Mr Potter.”

“So what, these are the ones who weren’t quite bad enough for Azkaban? The ones who plotted away and hoped for Voldemort’s victory but didn’t get the tattoo, so they get a day trip to London instead?”

“Harry!” she raised her eyebrows at him and lightly touched his arm, which seemed to calm him a little. For the most part, they had moved on from the war, but the prevalence of pure-blood ideology, even after everything that had transpired, was a sore spot for all of them. It wasn’t the sort of thing to just melt away overnight, and even though the atrocities committed by Voldemort and his followers were almost universally viewed as repulsive, there were pockets of the pure-blood aristocracy who might not have dark marks, might not have actually _fought_, but nonetheless had been firmly on- as Harry put it- the wrong side. She couldn’t deny that it deeply disturbed her too, but all she could really do at the moment is focus on making things better, on making sure something like that never happened again. The Muggle Society Integration Program wasn’t exactly a miracle cure, but it was a start.

“Sorry Sir,” muttered Harry, “It just- it still bothers me sometimes.”

“I understand,” said Kingsley levelly, regarding them both with an almost Dumbledore-ish expression of amused interest on his usually impassive face. “Believe me, it bothers me too, but I honestly believe that this is a step in the right direction.”

“So wait, why are we here?”

“Well, as I was saying, many of those who were, let us say working in shades of grey, during the war, have committed to participating in this program, many of them as a condition of their freedom.”

Oh, she was really starting to get a bad feeling about this.

“Now, I know the Program is typically conducted by a member of the Muggle Liaison Office, or occasionally Magical Law Enforcement, but given the uh, unique situation here, I felt it may be prudent to enlist a more experienced liaison.”

“The unique situation?” she asked weakly.

He didn’t reply, merely slid a file over the desk towards them. Clipped to the front was a rather unflattering mugshot of an unpleasantly familiar face.

“NO.” Harry said resolutely, as Hermione sat slack jawed next to him.

“Now, just-”

“NO.”

“_Him?_” she managed.

“Now, Mr Potter, Ms Granger, I know that-”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am entirely serious, it is a condition of his rehabilitation and subsequent freedom. Now, I know you have a history with-”

“So, let me get this straight,” said Harry, pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses, “You want us to take _Draco Malfoy_\- Draco _fucking_ Malfoy- around London on some sort of _muggle tour_? Have you _met_ Malfoy?”

“Firstly, yes I have met Malfoy.” Said Kingsley, eyebrow quirked at Harry’s outburst, “As recently as last week in fact, and while I admit he is hardly the most affable wizard, I have no reason to think he does not regret his role in the war. In fact I believe he regrets it deeply.”

“Yeah right,” scoffed Harry, but Kingsley silenced him with a look.

“And secondly, I do not expect you both to manage Malfoy’s participation in the Program-”

“Well that’s a relief-”

“- actually, I only need one of you.”

“What?!” they both exclaimed.

“Now I don’t mind how you decide, but-”

“But why do you need us at all?” asked Hermione pleadingly, “We’re hardly his biggest fans, why can’t someone more neutral from Muggle Liaisons-”

“Yeah!” interrupted Harry, “Isn’t this stuff _literally _their job?”

To her surprise, Kingsley sighed, looking tired.

“I understand your resistance to the idea, I do.” He said, “But the short answer to your question is: I need one of you to do it because Malfoy is a handful. He might regret his role in the war, but he’s still arrogant and headstrong, and there are few that I would trust to neither rise to his taunting nor be intimidated by him.”

“I’m sorry, you do know that Hermione punched him in the face right?”

“Harry!”

“I’m aware,” said Kingsley steadily, but his mouth twitched slightly.

“You’re hardly a shining example of ‘not rising to Malfoy’s shit’ either…” she huffed petulantly.

“I take it that’s why Ron’s not here?” asked Harry with a small smile. Hermione couldn’t help but smile back, thinking of the unmitigated disaster _that_ would be.

“I admit Mr Weasley doesn’t have the best record of keeping his temper where Mr Malfoy is concerned, but ultimately, he isn’t here because he too, is pureblood. I daresay he wouldn’t be of a great deal of use in navigating muggle London, whereas the two of you grew up with muggles, and thus, we circle back to the purpose of this meeting.”

Harry grunted his assent and folded his arms, while Hermione simply sat in astonishment.

“But, what about-?”

“Your work? The Wizengamot will debate your bill for at least a month, and it’ll only be a week or so delay to the start of your next project. As for the Morrison case, should Mr Potter decide to take on the responsibility I will explain the situation to the Senior Auror myself.”

“But-”

“I’m afraid that’s all there is to say, Mr Potter, Ms Granger,”

“That’s-”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a great deal of work to get through before my next meeting, please send me a memo when you’ve decided which one of you will be taking on the project.”

He flicked his wand and the door behind them opened. The meeting was over, whether they liked it or not. She nodded curtly and stood up to leave, dragging Harry out behind her before he had a chance to start an argument. The door clicked shut behind them, and they were left standing dumbstruck in the waiting room.

“You know, it’d be really wonderful if just once you could try and refrain from picking a fight with the Minister for Magic.” She said after a minute, nudging his shoulder affectionately.

“What even _was_ that?” he blurted out, “How can he just- Why can’t- Ugh. It’s too early in the morning for this.”

“Come on, let’s get some coffee and figure this out, since apparently this madness is priority number one now.”

***

Half an hour later, they sat down in an empty conference room in Magical Law Enforcement, two steaming mugs of coffee between them. Hermione had considered going out to the trendy muggle coffee shop down the road, but they had both decided that the current situation needed rather heavier ordnance. The coffee in Magical Law Enforcement was something of a legend, since what it lacked in palatability it made up tenfold in nosebleed-inducing strength. Ironically, it was probably illegal, but no one was willing to risk the inevitable riot that would ensue upon depriving the aurors of their caffeine.

Hermione took a tentative sip and wrinkled her nose, reaching over to put yet another packet of sugar in. Harry took a large gulp and too his credit, only spluttered a little as he swallowed. Still, she felt the effects almost immediately, this stuff really was pure rocket fuel, no wonder the aurors manage to pull the crazy shifts they did without having regular mental breakdowns, though she worried slightly for the state of their stomach linings, not to mention their tastebuds.

“So,” said Harry flatly, already halfway through his mug.

“So.” She echoed, folding her hands in front of her and staring him down. They sat like that for several minutes in silence, until Harry smirked and finished his mug.

“You would have made a great auror, Hermione,” he laughed, “That’s one hell of a poker face.”

“Of course I would have,” she sniffed haughtily, “But flattery will get you nowhere, Potter.” She tried and failed to take a delicate sip of the foul coffee, grimacing as it burned her throat.

“Well, I’ve still got open cases, it’s all hands on deck for the Morrison case, at least you’ve got a natural break-”

“Don’t give me that, Harry, you know as well as I do we’ve got half a dozen projects on the boil at any one time,”

“Well then if it’s always like that, it’s no worse time than any other!”

“Oh come on, that’s utter rubbish-”

“Whereas this is crucial point in our investigation-”

“Please, Ron told me it’ll be at least another few weeks of stakeouts and surveillance until you’ve got anything actionable.”

“What? You’re talking to Ron, since when?” 

“We had coffee last week,” she said, blushing slightly, “He wanted to tell me in person about him and Susan, as if I wasn’t already aware…” she added under her breath.

“As if everyone in a hundred mile radius wasn’t already aware,” said Harry, rolling his eyes and grinning knowingly, Ron and Susan hadn’t exactly been subtle in their recent tryst, but she was happy for him all the same. She was also extremely glad that the awkward semi-silence between them since their breakup last year had finally been broken. They had made small talk at events and outings, but last week was the first time in far too long they had actually sat and talked like old times, before everything got messy and broken. She hoped it would continue.

“Yeah, it’s fine though, it’s been nearly a year for god’s sake,”

“Yeah, but still,”

“Yes, well. It was nice of him to reach out and tell me in person, maybe it’ll be a bit less awkward when I visit now.”

“We can but hope,” he grinned, taking another gulp of coffee, “And speaking of awkward things-”

“Urgh-”

“Come on, Hermione, I’m just hitting my stride as an auror, I don’t want to ruin it by going to Azkaban for _murdering Malfoy_.”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous-”

“It’s me and Ginny’s anniversary next week, why ruin an otherwise lovely occasion?”

“Low blow, Harry. Don’t bring Ginny into this-”

“I won’t have to murder him if he ruins our anniversary, because _she’ll do it first,_”

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” she conceded with a small smile at the thought of Ginny’s rage, which was always entertaining when it wasn’t aimed at you. “But still, you really think she’ll be better off having to come home every day to my mood after a day out with Malfoy?”

“Fair point, but she could stay with us-”

“No way. That’s so unfair!”

“But I reeeaallly hate him, Hermione,” he wheedled, drawing a reluctant grin from her.

“And I’m sure the feeling is mutual. For both of us.”

“Ugh, this is the worst thing I’ve had to do since I started here, and that includes that one time Ron and I had to dig through a muggle landfill to find that cursed lamp.”

“You think it’ll be better for me? I’m sure he’ll be just delighted to find out his least favourite mudblood is the one showing him around,”

There was a beat of silence as they both contemplated their potential fates.

“Only one thing for it then,” said Harry, rooting around in his pocket and pulling out a fifty pence piece. “Flip for it? Seems only right to use a muggle coin.”

“Well, at least it’s fair,” she said hesitantly, “Heads or tails?”

“Heads, you take him, Tails I do. Winner buys loser an unholy amount of alcohol at the end of the week.”

“Fine, fine. Let’s go.”

Grinning a little nervously, Harry balanced the coin on his thumb and flicked it high into the air, where it spun for a second. He caught it and slapped it down on the back of his hand. When he revealed it, the Queen’s head glinted up at her. _Shit._

“Shit.”

“Well, Hermione, looks like you’ve got a busy week ahead of you,” Harry gloated, a smug grin plastered over his face.

“Shut up, Harry.”

“Try not to punch him in the face again, or do. Either works for me.”

“Ugh.”


	2. Consequences of a Coin Flip

Hermione sent the memo and sealed her fate just before lunch, and as she sat with her sandwich, she couldn’t help but wallow in the sorry state of affairs she had found herself in. Teaching Draco Malfoy of all bloody people about muggle society and culture. For a week. A _week!_ Well, it was four days, but it may as well have been a year. She sipped her tea, wishing it was something stronger, even though it was 11.30 on a Wednesday.

When she returned to her desk, there was a heavy file waiting for her with a thick memo on the front. The memo was just Kingsley saying he had owled Malfoy to say that the Program would start on Tuesday morning and to expect him to meet her in the Muggle Liaison Office at 9. She groaned and leaned back in her chair, throwing her hands up in a mini tantrum. OK. No more wallowing.

The rest of the documents included Malfoy’s main file, as well as a detailed timetable and outline of how the Program was usually conducted down in Muggle Liaisons. She pushed Malfoy’s file to the side, trying to ignore his mugshot, which was blinking unenthusiastically up at her. She covered it unceremoniously with her now empty mug, feeling no small amount of petty satisfaction as she thought of the prospect of leaving a tea stain on his stupid photograph. She turned away and began to read the Muggle Integration Program literature, taking some small solace in being back in her natural habitat, sitting in a quiet room and studying.

When Hermione finally got home that evening, she was well and truly done with the day. She had read, re-read, annotated and colour-coded every inch of the literature, all in an attempt to avoid reading Malfoy’s file. When she had eventually run out of other things to do, she had found it unexpectedly emotionally exhausting, all these years and she still couldn’t read about that damn manor without getting shivers down her spine and a lump in her throat. A year on house arrest with his mother while he awaited trial, sentenced to another 2 years at the trial, full privileges conditional on surrendering any and all dark objects and literature not already confiscated, as well as full cooperation with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Seeing it written down so causally on a page made it seem paltry and insignificant, and she felt a surge of rage, followed by a dull stab of horror as she remembered her stay at Malfoy Manor. She had slammed the file shut and stalked off home, putting a harsh expression on her face which she hoped would ward off anyone wanting to talk to her for some reason.

By the time she shut the door behind her though, her shoulders sagged and she dropped her bag unceremoniously on the floor, kicking off her shoes and shrugging out of her robes, leaving them where they fell. She staggered into the sitting room and fell face first onto the sofa.

“Long day?” asked Ginny brightly, not looking up from her newspaper.

“Arrgh.” Groaned Hermione into a cushion.

“That bad, huh?”

“Mmrrgh.” She nodded.

“You wanna talk about it?” Hermione shook her head, still pressing her face into the cushion. “You wanna drink about it?”

“Mrrbee…”

“Wow, it must be bad if Hermione Granger wants to drink on a school night!” laughed Ginny. Hermione finally raised her head to shoot her a dirty look, but she just laughed again, setting down the newspaper and ruffling her hair affectionately. “Cheer up, I just put the kettle on.”

As usual, she felt exponentially better after a cup of tea, and as she told Ginny about her latest ‘assignment’, she found herself actually cheering up, due in no small part to Ginny’s exaggerated and highly amusing reactions, no doubt for Hermione’s benefit. Honestly, she was like a one woman studio audience when she wanted to be.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Harry was right when he said I’d be mad. He’d be all obsessed and grumpy all week. You know what he’s like where Malfoy’s concerned, it’s almost homoerotic-”

Hermione choked a little on her tea.

“-And if he’d been all grumpy and obsessed with Malfoy of all people on _our_ anniversary-” she continued causally, “well, s_omeone _was going to get hexed into oblivion, that’s for sure.”

“How long is it now anyway?” she asked, eager to move away from the topic of Harry and Malfoy’s apparently homoerotic obsession with each other. _Not enough alcohol in the world for that conversation… _ She thought.

“Erm, its four years next Friday, if you don’t count when he dumped me to go run off to be a hero. Then it’s five.”

“Never going to let that go, are you?” She grinned.

“Would you?”

“Probably not.”

“Yeah that’s what I thought. Anyway, he gets away with way too much already just by being the golden boy, someone has to put him in his place every now and again.”

“True.”

“Dinner? I was going to have leftovers but I think given the situation, we need to order an extremely unhealthy amount of takeaway.”

“Good Lord, yes.”

***

The rest of the week passed in a haze of irritation and a mounting sense of foreboding. She received a few one-off assignments from Muggle Relations that they had deemed appropriately educational yet unimportant enough for Malfoy to tag along to. On Thursday afternoon, while she was eating a late lunch with Harry, Ron had sat down with them, his face sombre, and expressed his deep condolences for the loss of a perfectly good week. She had whacked him on the shoulder and smiled, relishing the semblance of their old dynamic. On Friday morning, she entered her office to find an enormous file from Magical Law Enforcement on her desk, which turned out to be the full transcripts of all of the Malfoys’ trials. By Friday afternoon, she was halfway through Narcissa’s – the third and final- trial, having merely skimmed most of Draco’s. She had _been_ there after all, and the less thought about the whole affair the better. For now, she would be happy if she managed to get through the week without having a complete and utter mental breakdown which would inevitably culminate in Malfoy’s bloody murder…

_Ok, contemplating murder is definitely the sign that you’ve had enough,_ she told herself sternly, gazing up at the clock._ 6.30! How did it get so late?_

It was hardly the latest she had stayed, maybe even a little earlier than average, but she’d be damned if she was staying late into her weekend just to prepare for _him._ She gathered up her things, shoving the trial transcripts into a drawer and hesitating for a second before packing the rest of the documents into her bag. The thought of having Draco Malfoy’s photograph in her handbag nauseated her a little, but she powered through it and stormed out of the door, determined not to let it get to her.

The apartment was dark and quiet when she got home, and she was just wondering whether to have a big cup of tea or a large glass of wine or whiskey, when she turned on the light and saw a bottle of wine on the kitchen counter with a note stuck to it. Well at least that settled the tea or alcohol question.

_Got roped into playing in a charity match in Cardiff, should be back tomorrow._

_The wine is bottom shelf, but my gran always said that the good booze is for celebrating, and this is pretty much the opposite of that, so enjoy the plonk!_

_Love, Ginny_

Hermione smiled, it was exactly the sentiment she needed right now, and she opened the bottle to let it breath, futile though that may be since it probably cost about three quid, as she pottered around the kitchen making pasta. There was something soothing about cooking, she found, it was a mix of art and science that she found extremely satisfying to get right, and it was always good to do something without magic every now and again. Using magic took something away from the experience in her opinion anyway, there was something fundamentally _right_ about feeling the consistency of the sauce, stirring and seasoning and spicing it with her own hands until it was just right. She had always hated it as a child, but a lot had changed in the last few years…

And just like that, her thoughts were back on the war, death eaters, the aftermath, and then _Malfoy. _She poured the bubbling sauce over the pasta with a tiny frown, and set the pan aside to pour herself a generous glass of wine. She brought the bowl over to the sofa and set it down to cool, taking a small sip of wine as she collapsed into the voluminous cushions.

“Ugh-God, Ginny, you weren’t kidding about the wine…” she muttered to herself, grimacing, but she took another sip anyway. Maybe Ginny’s gran was onto something, she was in a foul mood, and there was something cathartic about drinking this godawful wine, as if it resonated with her grouchiness.

Two large glasses later, she was feeling pleasantly tipsy and her thoughts wandered again to Malfoy. When was the last time she even _saw _him? It must have been at his trial. _Well that’s… bleak. _No chance of the usual ‘wow, how long has it been?’ small talk that somehow always happened when she saw people she’d known at Hogwarts, but then, she supposed there wasn’t much chance of semi-pleasant small talk with Malfoy anyway.

Without consciously thinking about it, she grabbed her handbag and fished out the dossier, where his photo still stared blankly up at her. It must have been taken fairly soon after the Battle of Hogwarts, she thought, because even through the dark circles under his eyes and the gauntness of his face, it was obvious that he wasn’t more than eighteen. Unbidden, a memory rose up through her hazy thoughts, of the first time she saw him in Malfoy Manor when they were captured. He had looked at her like he had seen a ghost, his skin sallow and his eyes empty but for the glint of paralysing terror. For a tiny moment, underneath all her own terror and rage and hatred, she had been shocked to see him look so… broken.

“Well… I still hate you.” She told the photo, taking another swig from her glass. The miniature Malfoy just raised a sardonic eyebrow at her. “Oh shut up.” She snapped, turning the file over so the photo was face down.

***

By Sunday night, Hermione’s irritation and sense of foreboding had morphed into something almost like nervousness, though she would never admit that to herself. He had no business making her nervous. She hadn’t been afraid of him at school and she wasn’t afraid of him now. Still, as she tried to concentrate on her book, she couldn’t help her mind wandering. Would he still be broken? A hollow shell of his former self? She couldn’t help a shameful feeling of satisfaction at the idea, though she knew it was unworthy of her. It was probably far more likely he would be the same arrogant, bigoted prat he had always been. Yes, Probably. She just hoped he had cleaned up his language a little, while it was hardly going to send her crying into a corner, she would _really_ rather not deal with him hurling ‘mudblood’ at her for a week.

_Let him try…_She thought angrily, _See what happens. _

But then, he was never stupid, he had to know as well as she did that using slurs like that would not be conducive to him finally earning his freedom. In fact, it was even possible that he’d have to be on his best behaviour, she was after all, obligated to report any ‘inappropriate’ conduct. But what if-

“Ugh!” she slammed her book shut. This really was the worst. She had barely thought Malfoy’s _name_ for the last four years, and her life had been all the better for it, now here she was going over every possibility in her mind. Sitting in bed, trying to read and instead thinking about- _ugh-_ Malfoy.

She put the book down on the bedside table with a little more force than necessary. Nothing for it but to try and get some sleep. It was only one week after all, how bad could it really be?


	3. Initial Interview

Hermione spent far longer than usual agonising over her outfit on Tuesday morning, as if somehow her clothes could make today less painful. She ended up giving herself a stern talking to in the mirror, (_Hermione Granger; you’ve never worried before about what you wear to see boys you actually like, so don’t start now for a boy you hate_) before finally putting on a comfy shift dress under her usual robes. She hesitated for a moment before slipping on a pair of black heels, she didn’t usually bother with heels at work, but she vaguely remembered Malfoy being quite tall, and she really didn’t like the idea of him towering over her. They wouldn’t be traipsing around London until tomorrow, but she cast a quick cushioning charm on them anyway, no point in wearing great heels if she would be hobbling around in pain an hour in. She made tea and sat down with today’s Prophet. Ginny appeared just as she drained the cup, looking like the ginger undead and stretching languidly, her shoulders and neck cracking loudly.

“M’rning,” she mumbled, shuffling into the kitchen and pouring herself a cup of tea.

“Morning,”

“Time is it?”

“8 o’clock. I’ve got to go, Gin, I want to sort a few bits out before the week from hell begins.”

“Alright, well, knock ‘em dead,”

“OK-”

“Not literally, although I’m not too picky in Malfoy’s case,”

“Me neither,” she laughed, grabbing a handful of floo powder and stepping into the fireplace.

“See you,” yawned Ginny.

“See you later. Ministry of Magic!” She threw down the powder and the living room disappeared in a cloud of green smoke, to be replaced by the dark tiles of the Ministry atrium, which was buzzing with activity despite the early hour. 

She spent half an hour working in her office, not quite managing to concentrate on anything, before finally heading down to Muggle Liaisons, her heels clacking ominously on the tiles. The receptionist pointed her to an empty office and she sat down behind the desk. She fidgeted for a few minutes, opening the Daily Prophet she had swiped from reception and reading the same line over and over again, her mind too easily distracted by exploring all the awful ways today could go... 

There was a sharp knock at the door, and it opened before she could reply. Hermione startled slightly, and looked up over the paper to see Draco Malfoy stroll in like he owned the place, dressed in immaculate robes and looking at the room as if it was the inside of a toilet. When his gaze found Hermione however, he froze, the carefully arranged superiority vanishing from his face, to be replaced by a tense, guarded expression.

“Is this a joke?” he asked tightly as the door clicked shut behind him. Well, she certainly hadn’t anticipated this particular reaction from him. She tried to wrangle her face into what she hoped was something like indifference.

“Delightful to see you too, Malfoy,” she said dryly, setting the paper carefully down on the desk. She forced herself to maintain eye contact until he looked away to focus on the nondescript wall behind her. _He looked away first. Good start. _She thought smugly. Petty, yes, but Hermione had a feeling that this would be a week long battle of wills, and she may as well get a head start if she was going to emerge with her sanity intact.

She had to admit, he certainly had grown up, but she supposed that the last time she had seen him he had hardly been looking his best. Gone now were the gaunt cheeks and hollow eyes. It seemed he had grown into his features a little over the years too, and reluctantly she thought that he wasn’t the pointy little ferret he had been at Hogwarts, though his grey eyes were sharp as ever. His hair was shorter but more unruly than she remembered; at least, it was unruly in a windswept kind of way rather than the ‘slow-motion metal breakdown’ kind of way it had looked during the war. She was extremely annoyed to find that it suited him; this would have been a lot easier if he’d had the decency to look like hell. 

“Is this a joke?” He repeated, his shoulders squared in obvious discomfort.

“No, it’s not a joke, what are you-”

“I bet this is just hilarious to you lot, isn’t it? I bet you just _couldn’t resist_ coming down to this pit just so you could have a good chuckle at my expense.” He narrowed his eyes at her and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking every inch the spoilt, sulky teenager she remembered. “No doubt Potter and an infinite number of Weasleys are just waiting in the wings to burst out and gloat, yes?”

“Malfoy, don’t be absurd.” She said tersely. This was so far from the response she had expected that she was actually a little taken-aback, but she rallied when he gave her another suspicious glare. She returned the glare and folded her arms stubbornly. “Do you honestly think I’d drag myself all the way down here and sacrifice my whole week just on the off chance that I’d get to see you mildly uncomfortable? Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Wait, I have to do the whole program with _you?_”

“They didn’t tell you?” she asked lightly, trying to ignore the way his nose had wrinkled in distaste when he said ‘_you’_. She took a deep breath, tamping down the surge of anger that threatened to end this charade before it even started. She was a professional, damn it.

“I- they didn’t mention a name.” He said shortly, not moving from his position by the door, shifting from one foot to the other as if he was about to bolt.

“Ah. Well.” She cleared her throat and placed some pamphlets and forms on the desk between them. “Please fill these in and we can get started.” He looked from her to the forms and back again.

“No offence, Granger, but why _on earth_ did they think it was a good idea to have you of all people conduct this _farce_?” There was the ghost of a smirk on his lips, as if he was caught between disbelieving shock and amusement. She took another deep breath and tried not to think about all the effective and maliciously creative curses she could unleash on this foul little- No, no, she was a _professional._

“Today will just be an initial interview, it shouldn’t take all day. Then we can either-”

“Seriously, what, did you lose a bet?” Her eyes shot up to meet his before she could stop it, and his expression shifted from mild astonishment to something almost like embarrassment, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, and he peered down at her with one pale eyebrow raised. “No. You actually lost a bet? Well, good to know the Ministry is taking this seriously.”

“Oh shut up. It wasn’t a bet… per se.” She sighed exasperatedly as he continued to regard her appraisingly, so much for her poker face. “Suffice to say that luck was not on my side that day, and now we get to spend a whole, glorious week in each other’s company.”

“Lucky me,” he muttered irritably, still frowning as if he was trying to figure something out.

“Loathsome, isn’t it?” she said sweetly.

“Glad to see you’re as charming as ever, Granger,” he said, a hint of his old drawl coming through as he finally sat down on the other side of the desk. She shot him a sarcastic smile and slid the forms over the desk towards him. He pulled out an ostentatious quill from his robes and began to fill in one of the forms.

“You know,” he said after several minutes of tense silence, “I had rather hoped that this would be with some idiot from Muggle Liaisons,”

“How d’you know I’m not from Muggle Liaisons?” she asked, not looking up from the Prophet, though she was only half concentrating on the article.

“Please, it’s common knowledge that you’re usually off writing policies about grindylow rights or something equally ridiculous.” She slapped the paper down in outrage, but he continued before she could retort. “Anyway, I was hoping to get some dullard who was apathetic enough to just go through the motions and get this damn thing over as soon as possible, but something tells me the illustrious Granger would never be so negligent.” He flicked his eyes up from the parchment to smirk at her. Hermione narrowed her eyes. If she punched him again, would the assignment just default back to Harry?

_“_I don’t want to be here any more than you do,” she said curtly. “But if you’re expressing unwillingness to complete the program properly, it would be _negligent_ of me to not include that in my report.” He rolled his eyes and went back to the form.

“Diligent as ever…Some things never change, do they?”

“You certainly haven’t.” she muttered sullenly. His quill paused for a second, but he didn’t look up, just continued to write again.

When all the paperwork was completed, she slid several pamphlets over the desk to him and stowed the forms in a large folder.

“Itinerary, information on the places we’ll be visiting, tube map-”

“_Independent study_? You’re setting me _homework_?” he exclaimed incredulously after skimming a few of the pamphlets.

“All part of the program,” said Hermione, unable to suppress a small smile at his horror.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked sourly.

“I wouldn’t go that far…”

“Oh please,” he leaned back in his chair looking intolerably pleased with himself, “Getting to lord it over me for a whole week via a legally mandated study program? I bet your buck-toothed little past self _dreamed_ of this day.”

The nervous irritation that had been simmering under the surface since this morning suddenly burnt itself out, leaving a cold rage that sat like an iceberg in her gut. She placed the folder gently down on the desk, sitting back in her own chair with forced serenity. She allowed the silence to stretch for a little longer than was comfortable, but Malfoy didn’t try to break it, just kept looking at her with that infernal eyebrow raised, as if daring her to explode. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet and icily calm.

“I’m sure you’d just love to think this is all some adolescent plot for revenge, wouldn’t you, Malfoy? You’d love to think that all this time I’ve just been sitting and seething, waiting for my chance to put you in your place? Well, I’m sorry to have to break this to you, but not everything is about you. I was perfectly happy having not even _thought your name_ since the war, and if you think you can annoy me into half-arsing this by putting on your little school bully act, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Oh come on-” He began, but Hermione silenced him with a look.

“Now, I know better than to try and curb that _legendary_ Malfoy snark,” she continued, regarding him coldly and making sure the word ‘legendary’ _dripped_ with disdain. “But if you try and treat me like you did in Hogwarts, I swear I will throw your file back to the aurors without a second thought, and let you go back and rot in that godforsaken manor.”

“I-Fine.” He muttered, not meeting her eyes, and despite her earlier words about her indifference, she felt a spiteful rush of satisfaction, seeing him so thoroughly put in his place. She stood up and dropped a few more leaflets in front of him.

“Read these.” She picked up the folder and stalked over to the door. “I’m going to give these forms to Muggle Liaisons. I’ll be back.” She shut the door behind her, ignoring the fleeting urge to slam it. She stood in the corridor for a second, breathing heavily and willing herself calm. Well that was… uncomfortable.

_That little prick. _She thought furiously as she made her way back to reception, _Thinks he can just show up here after all these years as if nothing’s happened, as if he wasn’t a criminal, as if he hadn’t just sat and _watched_ as… as she had…_ Her mind spiralled off into memories of those shadowed, ominous walls, that long, dark table where they had all sat and watched as she experienced pain beyond what she had thought possible…

She realised that she had stopped stock still in the middle of the thankfully empty hall, clutching the file to her chest with white knuckles. Mentally shaking herself, she took another deep breath and rounded the corner to reception.

“Done already, Ms Granger?” asked the receptionist, smiling vacuously.

“Sadly, no. Just dropping off the registration paperwork for your records.”

“Alrighty, just let me find- here we are,” Hermione slid the file over the desk, tapping her nails on the lacquered wood in agitation as she tried to keep her thoughts from Malfoy Manor. “Anxious to get back in there?” asked the receptionist, clearly misinterpreting her tapping.

“Anxious isn’t the word I’d use.” She said grimly. Oblivious to Hermione’s clipped tone, the receptionist tittered as she magically copied the forms.

“Easy on the eyes, isn’t he?”

“What?”

“Mr Malfoy? I was just saying that he’s- um…” She trailed off as she saw the look on Hermione’s face. There was a spectacularly awkward silence as she finished the copies and handed the originals back.

“Is there a tea room around here?” asked Hermione, a little more sharply than she had intended.

“I- yes, right at the end of that corridor. Ms Granger, I-”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry if I-”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap, it’s just…” Hermione sighed, “_’Mr Malfoy’_ is a criminal. Don’t forget it.” She didn’t wait for a reply, but swept off down the corridor towards the tea room.

To her great relief the tea room was empty, and she set about making herself a cup, relishing the distraction from the unpleasant task that still awaited her a few doors down. Steaming mug in hands, she breathed in the fragrant vapours for a second, hoping to clear her head, but all too quickly her tumultuous thoughts began to resurface. There was no way she could get through this week if she was going to get lost in memories every time Malfoy was an arse, no, she would have to get a hold of herself, control her temper. _Be the better person_.

Oh, but she was so very bored of being the better person. Maturity was all well and good, but with the prospect of being constantly needled by a bored and bitter Malfoy, the concept seemed less and less laudable. She spent a moment wondering if there was something sufficiently reckless and unprofessional that she could do that would get her kicked off this assignment that was still mild enough to keep her actual job intact. Probably not. She sighed long-sufferingly, finished her tea and returned to the grey little office.

Malfoy was sitting with his hands clasped on the desk in front of him, it also appeared that he had been fiddling with the pamphlets she had given him, because they were arranged in a neat row, perfectly parallel to the edges of the desk. He didn’t say a word as she sat down again opposite him, just stared down at his hands, his expression carefully neutral. Hermione steeled herself for yet another battle of wills, but as soon as she sat down, he looked up, meeting her gaze with surprising intensity.

“I fully intend to complete this program, indeed I am committed to any measures the ministry deems necessary to earn my full freedom.” He said, reciting the words in a monotone as if he was reading from a script.

“Ok, but-” He cut her off, apparently determined to say his piece.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here, and I confess I fell back into our old-uh- dynamic. I was- that was-” He faltered slightly, finally breaking eye contact to stare down at his hands. Hermione, for her part was stunned, although she tried not to show it on her face. Was he trying to _apologise_? Had hell frozen over while she made her tea?

“Yes…?” she prompted, trying to sound patient rather than smug. To her surprise though, he didn’t continue, or even scowl bitterly at her, which she had been expecting, instead, he chuckled lightly and met her eyes again, leaning back in the chair and regarding her curiously.

“I’ll be good, Granger.” He murmured, and for the first time today, Hermione felt like she might have lost this particular battle of wills. No matter. She didn’t need his apology, she didn’t need anything from him. Besides, that had been too easy by far, he was probably up to something.

“What, just like that?” She deadpanned, fixing him with a withering stare.

“Just like what?” he replied innocently, and she couldn’t stop herself from audibly snorting.

“You’ll be_ good_? Like anything has ever been that simple with you,”

“I fail to see what exactly is so complicated about me not wanting to spend another day cooped up in that bloody house.” He snapped, some of his nonchalance slipping.

“Fine.” She muttered, busying herself with her papers and trying not to think of the Manor again. She supposed he probably had plenty of less than pleasant memories of the place himself, she didn’t even want to imagine being _trapped_ there… She hurriedly pushed that thought out of her mind, as it was getting dangerously close to feeling _sorry_ for Malfoy.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, though Hermione would be lying if she said it was pleasant. Still, she had only needed to keep Malfoy for another hour or two while they went over various boring administrative issues, as well as a bit more questioning, so at least she got to leave earlier than a normal workday. She went straight back to her office to do different work of course, but it she would take any win she could get at this point. When she finally trudged back to the floos in the atrium, Hermione was dead on her feet, and she collapsed almost immediately on the sofa without even turning on the lights.

She let out a low, sustained groan, mingled frustration and relief pouring out as she pressed her face into the cushion. One day down, three to go.


	4. Day at the Museum

Hermione awoke the next day feeling a sense of dread, edged with a tiredness that seemed to permeate right down to her bones. It was probably just anticipation of the very long day she knew she had coming, but part of her was deeply wearied by yesterday’s verbal jousting, and she really wasn’t looking forward to another day of it. She was due to meet Malfoy at the visitor’s entrance to the Ministry in an hour and a half, and she was already wishing she had stayed in bed. She hadn’t been able to sleep though, sitting and worrying about today until she finally gave it up and got up to make tea and toast.

Yesterday as a whole had been very jarring, nothing had quite happened the way she had expected it to, and she had spent rather longer than she would like to admit obsessing over it as she tried to get to sleep last night. She was sure he had been about to apologise, but then he had just bloody smirked at her infuriatingly and acted all casual. It pained her to admit it to herself, (because she certainly wasn’t going to admit it to anyone else) but if his intention had been to put her off balance, he had succeeded.

Annoyingly, she was still thinking about it as she waited by the deserted visitor’s entrance, sipping her coffee from a paper cup. It was an absurdly decadent creation of whipped cream and chocolate and caramel syrup, but there was an autumnal bite in the air despite the clear blue sky, and she felt like she deserved a treat to help her get through today. 

“Granger?”

“Jesus-” she jumped and nearly spilt her coffee, although the colossal amount of whipped cream on top was doing a surprisingly good job of keeping the liquid under control. “Ugh, Malfoy, where do you get off sneaking up on me like that?”

“Sneaking up on you?” he scoffed, “It’s not my fault you were so interested in whatever_ that_ monstrosity is-” he gestured smoothly at her cup, the whipped cream clearly visible over the rim, “-that you didn’t even notice me six feet in front of you.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.” She grumbled, replacing the lid on her cup and taking a defiant sip. This was not an ideal start to the day. She looked at him suspiciously, wondering how he managed somehow to lounge while standing fully upright. Today he was in a crisp muggle suit, and she was annoyed again that he appeared as at ease in muggle clothes as he was in wizard’s robes, it must be an aristocracy thing. Nothing like being raised to believe you’re better than everyone else for bolstering one’s self confidence.

“What are you staring at?” he asked warily, “Is this not muggle enough for you?” he gestured down to his suit, and Hermione couldn’t help letting out a snort of laughter. With his artfully messed hair and beautifully tailored suit, he looked every inch the cocky young executive.

“It’s fine,” she said, enjoying his scowl and folded arms, maybe he wasn’t quite as confident as she thought, despite the smug veneer. Privately, she was perpetually amused that wizards seemed to view muggle clothes as somehow ridiculous, while simultaneously running around in colourful, flowing robes, last week she had seen someone with a bright yellow silk cravat with a matching pointed hat which made him look like a human sized pencil. No, Hermione preferred a man in a suit any day. Well, maybe not this particular man.

“Whatever,” said Malfoy sulkily. She smirked and put on her best patronising school teacher voice.

“Well, today we’re going to the science museum to learn how muggles do everyday things without magic, have you been on the tube before?”

“What do you think?” he asked witheringly.

“Alright, do you have the map I gave you yesterday?”

“No.”

“Typical,” she said, rolling her eyes and starting to walk towards the main street. “Come on then, no time like the present.”

The tube station was only a few minutes’ walk away, and soon she found herself standing in front of the large map by the ticket gates tracing the lines with her finger as if explaining to a child.

“I’m not dense, Granger,” he said sourly, “It’s not that complicated.”

“Fine, I’ll go get tickets, just remember, we’re going to _South Kensington_,” That earned her a death glare, but she was getting no small amount of savage, immature enjoyment from seeing him so far out of his comfort zone.

The ticket gates were awkward, with much apologising for Malfoy’s clumsiness as he held up the line by not stepping forward through the gates fast enough. Even though it wasn’t rush hour, the station was still very busy, and she was thankful that they didn’t have to change anywhere, given how uncomfortable Malfoy looked as he was bumped and jostled by the crowds. For her part, Hermione felt herself fall easily back into a sort of autopilot, her head down as she unconsciously weaved through the bustle of people. They didn’t have to wait long before the train swept into the station, throwing her hair back in a gust of warm air.

“Alright, let’s go,” she said to Malfoy, who nodded grimly behind her as if he was on his way to the gallows. The doors opened and after the passengers had got off the train, Hermione pushed her way through the doors with the rest of the people on the platform, switching into Londoner mode and elbowing her way to an empty space by the opposite door. As they doors slid closed, she scanned the packed carriage for Malfoy, but to her horror, just as the train began to move, she caught sight of a shock of white blond hair on the other side of the doors. Malfoy was standing on the platform, wide-eyed and looking uncharacteristically lost, Hermione frantically tried to mouth _‘South Kensington’_ at him, hoping he would get the message and meet her there, it was only a few stops after all, but he disappeared too quickly as they pulled away into the tunnel.

_Shit._

She stood dumbstruck for the few minutes it took for them to get to the next station. Out in muggle London for all of half an hour and she had lost him. She got off the train a few minutes later at Kensington, and sat down despondently on one of the benches on the platform.

This was ridiculous. She had lost Draco Malfoy on the tube. _Draco Malfoy_ was sitting on a dirty underground platform in muggle London with no idea what he was doing. It seemed like common sense just to meet at their destination given how close it was, but who knew what common sense counted for among purebloods like him? They probably used magic to wipe their arse for heaven’s sake. She must have looked miserable, because a girl with blue hair in baggy jeans sat down next to her with a reassuring smile on her face.

“Excuse me, are you ok?” she asked, “I don’t mean to intrude, you just look lost.” Hermione couldn’t help the biting laugh that escaped her.

“_I’m_ not lost,” she said, laughing bitterly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said the girl, getting up hurriedly and looking mortified.

“No, it’s fine, I’m sorry, that was really nice of you to ask,” said Hermione, actually a little touched at this display of compassion in the bastion of stress and selfishness that was the London underground. “I’m not lost, it’s my- my _friend._ He’s a- he’s a country boy.”

“Oh, ok, well I’m sure he’ll be fine, he knows where you’re going, right?”

“Yeah, I’m just not sure how much common sense he’s got. He might be standing like an idiot back on the platform for all I know.” The girl sniggered as the next train pulled in to the station.

“See him?” she asked as Hermione scanned the crowd.

“No, ugh… god only knows what he’s doing… Wait, shit, Malfoy!” she called, standing up quickly when she saw him standing looking bewildered in the mass of people bustling around on the platform. More than a few of them were huffing and scowling as they walked around him, annoyed that he had the gall to stand still on a train platform.

“Granger!” he exclaimed indignantly when he reached the bench, “What were you playing at? This whole thing is- who are you?” he snapped, finally noticing the blue-haired girl who had stood up with Hermione.

“Real charmer, this one,” she said to Hermione, ignoring Malfoy.

“Tell me about it,” she muttered, “Thanks again for being so nice.”

“No problem,” she said, walking off down the platform. Hermione turned to Malfoy, who was looking mutinous.

“Who the hell was that?”

“Just some girl who was being nice to me, calm down.”

“Calm down? This whole thing is a deathtrap!”

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” she said, beginning to walk towards the exit. “You’re perfectly happy whizzing around hundreds of feet in the air on a twig, you can’t handle ten minutes alone on the tube?”

“It’s not the same.” He grumbled behind her as they stepped onto the escalator.

“You want me to hold your hand next time?” she asked, pouting at him mockingly.

“You people are crazy.” He muttered.

***

The Science Museum was predictably busy, though not quite as rammed as the tube had been. Hoards of school children milled around in matching fluorescent vests while anxious and harried looking teachers counted heads. Given the earlier excitement, she wondered if she should have put Malfoy in a fluorescent vest of his own to keep track of him. She smiled pettily at the image.

Malfoy was sullen and silent for the first half hour, which Hermione really should have been fine with, but the sheer awkwardness of it started to bother her after a while. He stood with his arms folded, reading the plaque on Charles Babbage’s analytical engine with poorly concealed disdain, and Hermione felt a stab of annoyance. No, she wouldn’t let him ruin the science museum. It was part of a set of cherished memories from her pre-Hogwarts life, and while it wasn’t exactly surprising that he essentially seemed to hate everything she loved, she suddenly realised how soul destroying it was going to be trudging around all day with him casting a black cloud over her childhood and her heritage.

“Malfoy, can I have a quick word?” she asked tightly, pulling him aside from the crowds into a small alcove by an empty display. “What are you doing?”

“Is that a trick question?” he drawled, raising a pale eyebrow at her infuriatingly. She folded her arms and glared at him, making him sigh exasperatedly, as if _she _was the immature one. “Fine, since apparently it needs to be said, at this moment I’m being dragged around a muggle museum as part of my court mandated ‘rehabilitation’, which apparently consists of a week of forced muggle studies, I mean honestly, there’s a reason I dropped it as soon as possible-”

“Cute. Yes, I’m sure rampant bigotry had nothing to do with it-”

“Oh, you wound me, Granger,” he gasped, clutching his chest melodramatically.

“Interesting, I don’t hear you denying it.” She said smugly. He didn’t reply, but folded his arms and stared off into the distance moodily. “What? Nothing to say?”

“Christ, Granger, just leave it alone.”

“Fine.” She said, feeling that it was more trouble than it was worth to push it.

“Fine.”

“But you’ve got to stop looking at everything as if it’s sewage, it’s not exactly convincing me of your acceptance of muggle culture.” To her surprise, he laughed, and looked down at her with amusement.

“Seriously? That’s got nothing to do with bigotry.”

“What then?” she pressed, setting her jaw in determination and bristling a little when he laughed again.

“I’m _bored, _Granger! This is _boring_. Computing machines are _boring. _I still have no idea what the fuck _binary_ is, but I know it is _BORING._”

“I- for god’s sake Malfoy, stop being a child, you’re here to learn!”

“Merlin, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

She _really _hated how smug he looked right now. Most of all she hated that he might have a point. She couldn’t count how many times she had told Harry and Ron almost the same thing. Oh, who was she kidding, it was _exactly _the same thing. Probably verbatim. Still though, how dare he stand there as if they were still in school and make her feel as if being interested in things was somehow ‘uncool’. She resisted the urge to say ‘computers are NOT boring!’ feeling that it would only invite more mockery, and instead took a steadying breath, trying to think of how to make the best of this situation.

“Fine, we can move on from computer science-”

“Thank god-”

“Shut up. OK fine, where do _you _want to go?”

“To the pub.” Ok, she should have seen that coming.

“It’s 11am!”

“I’ll take borderline alcoholism over _this_.”

“I’ll be sure to include that in your report.”

“See, this is why you weren’t invited.” She was going to kill him, she was sure of it. She pinched the bridge of her nose irritably and tried to think calming thoughts.

“Fine.” She growled, but through her frustration, she was struck by inspiration. “Alright Malfoy, so imagine you were suddenly a squib. What would you miss most?”

“Flying.” He said without hesitation, and for a moment Hermione envied his clarity.

“Ok, I can work with that.”

Ten minutes later they had navigated the labyrinthine halls of the museum to arrive in the Flight gallery, where a variety of muggle aircraft hung suspended from the ceiling. To her mild surprise, he perked up almost immediately, seemingly fascinated by the various weird and frankly counterintuitive flying machines. In Hermione’s opinion, it didn’t matter whether it was science or magic, planes or brooms, they were all equally awful, but Malfoy appeared to be at least slightly enjoying himself. She smiled a little to herself as she saw a sandy haired child approach the same plaque as him. The child wasn’t quite as blond as him, but it was still an amusing image, Draco Malfoy standing in a muggle museum, reading about the same plane as the tiny muggle version of himself. God, life was weird sometimes-

Oh no, the child was talking to him… oh _no, _Malfoy was talking back to a _muggle child_. Oh god, what was he saying? Would she have to obliviate the child?! How on earth would she explain _that_ to Kingsley?

As it turned out, her internal panic was unnecessary, as Malfoy was just leaning back casually and allowing the boy to wax lyrical about every single model of plane he knew.

“-And then there’s the Harrier Jump Jet, they’re really cool because it doesn’t need- Oh, hi.” The boy trailed off shyly as Hermione approached.

“Hi,” she said, smiling down at him.

“Matt here was just telling me about all the different planes,” said Malfoy pointedly. To his credit, he was only looking moderately uncomfortable at being cornered and talked at by some random child.

“Uh, great,” she managed, “That’s great, Matt, but you’d better get back to your class.”

“Ok,” he said quietly, before skittering off to the rest of the kids who were crowded around some models of Da Vinci’s flying machines.

“Matt was telling me how cool the space hall was,” said Malfoy, and Hermione privately cringed a little at the sound of Draco Malfoy saying something was ‘cool’.

This day was getting weirder and weirder.

***

They went to the space hall after lunch, and to Hermione’s great surprise, Malfoy appeared to be genuinely fascinated by the very concept of muggles in space.

“Is this true?” he demanded after reading through the information about the moon landing several times. While reading, his expression kept flipping between contemptuous disbelief, begrudging respect and utter shock; this amused Hermione greatly.

“Of course it’s true,” she said haughtily, “They don’t just make this stuff up for entertainment, you know.”

“You cannot be serious. There must have been some idiot wizard who-”

“No, that’s what I thought too!” she whispered, enthusiastic despite herself. “I mean, everyone knows about the moon landing, but when I found out about- when I got my letter, I mean, I wondered if it was some sort of joint venture or something, or some maybe some wizard masquerading as a muggle, helping them out-”

“But why would you even _want_ to go to the moon?”

“That’s a stupid question. Because you can, obviously, and the science is fascinating. You don’t think it’s cool?”

“Well of course it’s cool,” he said, a little reluctantly, “But _why? _And there _must _have been some wizard involved-” Hermione shook her head gleefully.

“Nope, you know, I wondered. Then when I got a job at the ministry I looked into it, you know the Department of Mysteries had a whole investigation about it? They partnered up with the Department of International Magical cooperation, it was a really big deal, they were convinced someone had broken the Statute of Secrecy, or were covertly helping NASA- one of the muggle space agencies-”

“And were they?”

“No! They like to keep it quiet because ultimately the whole investigation was fruitless, and they don’t like to admit that muggles managed something so impressive but…” She trailed off. For a minute there, she had completely forgotten who she was talking to, too caught up in her own enthusiasm.

She had been pretty annoyed when she found out that most wizards didn’t even _know_ about the moon landing, about any of muggle space exploration, it was such a huge accomplishment after all, so it was a huge slap in the face to all those pureblood supremacists who saw muggles as barely more than savages. To her, the downplaying of this was nothing more than propaganda, and she wasn’t surprised I the slightest that Malfoy didn’t believe it, being the living embodiment of pureblood values.

Apparently Malfoy was thinking along the same lines, because he shifted awkwardly from foot to foot in a frankly baffling display of unease. It hadn’t happened very often, but every time he got all uncomfortable and- dare she think it- almost remorseful, it threw her into a loop and she didn’t know how to react.

“Well, as much as it pains me to admit it, this is actually really impressive- I mean, if it’s actually true of course.”

“It is true.” She muttered, regarding him suspiciously.

“If nothing else, you have to respect the sheer balls you’d have to have to strap yourself to a tank of flammable chemicals and literally _explode_ your way to the moon- what? Did I grow an extra head or something?”

Hermione’s mouth had dropped open, and she was now gawping at Malfoy with undisguised astonishment. She flatly refused to believe that he had suddenly become a rational, decent person where muggles were concerned, and she was becoming more and more convinced that he was either shamelessly lying to try and get through the program, or was simply putting on a show to simply leave her confused and off balance. Either possibility was far closer to the Malfoy that she knew, but she had to admit, he was a damn good liar.

“Unless you’re planning on catching some flies, you should probably shut your mouth, Granger, it’s a rather undignified look on you.”

She shut her mouth with a snap and glared at him. He was smirking infuriatingly, his arms folded as he leant causally against a wall, and Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, which unfortunately only prompted him to smile wider, obviously entertained by her annoyance. This was an act. She knew it. She had never heard him be sincere about anything other than his hatred of her and pretty much everything she held dear, and there was no way in hell that he was suddenly all accepting and respectful. No way in hell. She knew he was lying, and she was going to catch him stepping in his own bullshit if it was the last thing she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fucking love the science museum, can you tell? :p


	5. Independent Study

The rest of their day at the Science Museum had been awkward. Malfoy had been very quiet, it seemed that he was a little embarrassed by his open approval of the muggle space exhibits, but Hermione knew better. She knew he had pushed his little act too far, and now he _knew_ she was suspicious. Honestly, saying muggles were _impressive?_ It would have been less suspicious if he had joined SPEW. Well, she had his number, and he wasn’t going to get away with bullshitting his way through the program, she would make sure of that.

On Thursday morning she told Ginny as much as they drank tea in their pyjamas. Ginny had played a particularly brutal quidditch match the day before and they were both extremely reluctant to get dressed.

“I mean where does he get off, acting like he actually gives a shit? Ugh, I know he’s up to something,” said Hermione, pouring herself another cup and taking a large bite of toast.

“Mhmm,” mumbled Ginny, rolling her head from side to side and rubbing her neck in discomfort.

“Shoulder still giving you trouble?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, a little.”

“Got any words of wisdom about Malfoy?”

“I don’t know…” Ginny looked shiftily into her tea.

“Ok, what is it? You’ve got that look you get when you don’t want to say something.”

“Oh fine, just- don’t hate me for saying this but-”

“Come on, Gin, just spit it out,” she said, stifling a yawn. Ginny chewed the inside of her cheek and fixed her with a penetrating stare.

Well, it’s just that we’ve been talking about Malfoy for nearly an hour, and you kind of- well you sound like Harry, all obsessive and-”

“Obsessive?!” she spluttered, “I am_ not_ obsessed with Malfoy! It’s only been 2 days for god’s sake-”

“I didn’t say you were obsessed,” said Ginny, holding her hands up in a placating gesture, “It’s just that- I don’t doubt you can handle yourself, Hermione, but it does seem like he’s got under your skin a little.”

Hermione opened her mouth to reply indignantly, but shut it again as she realised that flying off the handle would only prove Ginny’s point. Even worse, she had a sinking feeling that she might be right. When she went over her words from the last hour she found they bore a striking similarity to many of Harry’s rants from their sixth year when he was convinced that Malfoy was a death eater. It didn’t help that Harry had happened to be right, but she couldn’t deny how disruptive it had been to his life, not to mention hers and Ron’s. She had meant every word she had said the other day when she had told Malfoy how little she cared about him. How had she gone from that to ranting about him in her pyjamas? She sighed heavily.

“I don’t know what to say. I was fine when he was just being an arsehole like normal, but then he starts- Ugh- he said _muggles _were _impressive_, Ginny, it’s- well it’s bloody baffling is what it is. I feel like-”

“You feel like you’ll go crazy if you don’t figure out the mystery?” 

Hermione groaned. Curse her infernal need to unravel every puzzle, and curse Ginny’s exasperating perceptiveness. She wished she wasn’t quite so easy to read, especially with Ginny sitting there across the table looking intolerably pleased with herself.

“Ok, Hermione, I’m going to say something, and you have to promise not to overreact.”

“Ok…”

“What if Malfoy has actually just- you know- changed?”

“What?! How can you-”

“Ah ah! No overreacting.” Ginny said in a sing-song voice, wagging her finger. Honestly, sometimes she really was like a carbon copy of her mother. Hermione decided that mentioning this at this moment would be counterproductive though, so she just huffed exasperatedly.

“Oh for- fine. I don’t know though, Ginny, I can’t believe that he’s just-what? Good? All those years torturing me at school, all those awful comments, and the things he’s done…” She suppressed a shudder as her mind flitted back to the Manor yet again.

“I know,” said Ginny quietly, placing a hand reassuringly over Hermione’s “I’m not saying he’s suddenly become some paragon of goodness, Merlin knows I’m not exactly his biggest fan, but it seems entirely possible that his views on blood purity might have softened over the last few years.”

“I- well. Maybe.” Hermione conceded reluctantly, still rather unconvinced, “But he’s definitely still an arsehole.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” chuckled Ginny, “Look, you want my advice?”

“Not really,” she muttered, but Ginny ignored her.

“Just try to ignore it, let him try and play whatever game he wants, just do your job and he’ll be out of your life again soon enough.”

“Just ignore him? That’s your advice?”

“That and don’t talk to Harry about it,” she shrugged, “The two of you will get stuck in an infinite loop.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she supposed Ginny was right, at least in theory. Ignoring Malfoy was going to be easier said than done, but at least it was only for a few more days.

***

Unfortunately for Hermione, today’s activities gave her very little in way of distraction. They were holed up in a dingy conference room for the day, where she was supposed to be supervising Malfoy’s ‘independent study’. Obviously bored with his book on muggle religion, he had been trying to get a rise out of her for the last hour, smirking at her across the table and making sarcastic comments about her love of books, or snorting derisively about muggle customs. They had been sitting in tense silence for twenty minutes when he finally changed tack.

“The museum yesterday, had you been there before, Granger?”

Hermione looked up from her book, careful to keep her face impassive.

“A few times, yes. It’s quite a big attraction in the muggle world.” Her tone was clipped and cold, but to her surprise, he smiled and leant back in his chair.

“Yes, I could tell, you seemed to be enjoying yourself, despite the company.”

“Read your book, Malfoy,” she muttered, determined not to engage him.

“Yes, I can just see you as a tiny muggle child, just desperate to learn _everything,_”

“Malfoy,” she said warningly.

“Frankly I’m surprised you ended up in Magical Policy of all places, you strike me as the Department of Mysteries type. Never happier than when you’re shut up in a room unravelling the mysteries of the universe.”

That did it. Not because it was particularly objectionable, but rather because of Malfoy’s unexpected and frankly unnerving accuracy. She had seriously considered a career in the Department of Mysteries, and when she was feeling like she was banging her head against a brick wall with a particular policy, she often daydreamed about what new enigma the Unspeakables might be exploring down in their dungeons. That was her business though, and she was _happy_ in Magical Policy, even if she did occasionally feel like she was another inconsequential cog in a massive machine that barely worked… Still, she’d be damned if she was going to sit back and let Malfoy- ugh- _read_ her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, forgetting her pledge to ignore him.

“Just making conversation, Granger.” He said, shrugging lazily.

“You’re trying to provoke me, just like yesterday, and I’ll invite you to kindly quit it before I-”

“Yesterday? What did I do yesterday?”

She fixed him with a withering stare, but he only stared back in- if she didn’t know better- what could be construed as genuine curiosity. It enraged her.

“You cannot be serious. You can’t possibly believe that I actually _bought_ all that rubbish about you being _impressed_ by muggles!”

He was silent for a beat, he opened his mouth, then shut it again, looking gobsmacked. A tiny flush appeared on his pale cheeks and for a split second Hermione hesitated. What if Ginny was right, what if _she_ was the arsehole?

“I’m hurt, Granger, you think so little of me?” he drawled in an almost convincing impression of his usual arrogance, but Hermione wasn’t buying it. She had seen the shadow of uncertainty, almost embarrassment that had passed over his face, and she knew she had him.

“Enough, Malfoy! I’ve had enough of this ridiculous act. I won’t let you wheedle your way out of justice, just because you think I’m too stupid to-”

“And here I thought you were so determined to be mature,” he said bitterly, “But you couldn’t resist, could you?”

“I’m sure I’ll regret asking, but couldn’t resist what, Malfoy?” she sighed resignedly. When he simply stayed silent, staring down at his folded arms, she shook her head and returned to the book she had been reading.

“Honestly, I didn’t think you had such a vicious streak,” he muttered, flicking his eyes up to meet hers over the top of her book, “I must say I rather like it.”

Hermione slammed the book down on the table and glared at him.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, but please feel free to enlighten me.” He stared at her for several seconds longer than was comfortable, then leaned back in the chair.

“Granger, are you telling me that you _actually_ believe that I am running some sort of elaborate long-con on you just so you’d rubber stamp my form?”

“Oh right, of course, that would be completely contrary to my general experience-”

“Merlin, I thought you were supposed to be bright,” he drawled, even having the nerve to roll his eyes at her before speaking again in a smug, patronising tone. “War’s over, Granger,”

“Malfoy, I swear to-” she stopped, shut her eyes and took a deep breath, “Malfoy, I am aware the war is over, but I see absolutely no reason to believe _you’ve _suddenly had a great change of heart.” She sat back, satisfied, and watched for a moment as his mouth flapped open like a fish. He rallied quickly though, his eyes cold and his tone contemptuous.

“Oh yes, I’m sure that’s quite incomprehensible to you, one third of the great moral compass of the wizarding world. What, no rousing speech about how everyone has some good in them? No snide comment about how you were right all along? I know how you just love to be right-”

“Alright, that’s _enough_!” Damn it, she_ did _love to be right, but now she felt a sinking sense of guilt, a taint of unworthiness that was spoiling what should have been a glorious victory. She was better than this, wasn’t she? But this constant suspicion, holding grudges and thinking the worst of people… well, it wasn’t what they fought for, was it? She gritted her teeth, taking another deep breath and focusing hard on the grain of the wooden desk between them.

“Are you saying that you _did_ have a change of heart?” she asked, a little tightly. He sighed roughly, and when she looked up, he was staring down at his hands as if the very meaning of life was written on them.

“Oh, you know,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “There’s uh- nothing like a psychopath moving into your childhood home and continually torturing and murdering people on your dining table to make one question their long held beliefs…”

Hermione blinked. Her mind came to a grinding, screeching halt and she was momentarily speechless.

Well… it wasn’t impossible, was it? That manor… the echoes of her own screams bouncing around the cavernous dining room, joined by Bellatrix’s own cackles of glee. She scratched at her forearm absentmindedly where she knew the faded scar was still just about visible under her jumper. All those years spent spouting the same pureblood garbage as his parents, all that energy poured into making their twisted vision a reality, then being confronted with the objectively horrifying truth of what Voldemort really was…well. It wasn’t impossible.

Putting herself in his shoes –as much as she could bear to- she supposed she could see how seeing all those awful things that transpired in that manor would shake a person’s beliefs at their very foundations. He was inspecting his immaculate fingernails now, his eyes blank, his clenched jaw the only evidence of his unease. She watched him for a moment, trying to slot this newly acquired information into her opinion of him, until he looked up at her with a cocky smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Have I rendered the great and powerful Granger speechless?” he let out a short laugh that was utterly devoid of humour.

“Don’t call me that, I’m not the bloody Wizard of Oz,” she grumbled.

“Who’s Oz?”

“It’s- never mind.”

There was another spectacularly awkward silence, she didn’t really know what to say at this point, but something must have changed in her expression, because he suddenly glared at her.

“Don’t you dare pity me, Granger,” he snarled.

Well, at least he clearly hadn’t changed _too_ much. She supposed that was comforting in a way.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She said scornfully, “Read your fucking book, Malfoy.”

He grunted in reluctant approval and returned to his work, apparently grateful that this particular conversation was over. She watched him curiously for a few seconds, before finally returning to her own book.

She still wasn’t sure she completely believed him, but it was enough that she felt like she’d be able to avoid ranting to Ginny about him and therefore avoiding her comments about obsession. Definitely still an asshole, but not necessarily the shameless bigot she had previously assumed. She could deal with that, and maybe even think about passing him when the week was over without feeling dirty inside. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long break, I know, life got in the way, but i'm back on it with the writing now so updates should be more frequent.   
Comments very welcome :)


	6. Breaking Point

Hermione felt cautiously optimistic as she stood waiting for Malfoy on Friday morning. One more day, just one more day and she could finally be rid of him. It was bad enough that she had been forced to abandon her theory that he was lying through his teeth to pass the program, but more than that, she deeply disliked the apparent ease with which he managed to keep her flustered and off balance, even after all these years. Maybe she hadn’t quite managed to move past all the years of bullying and abuse, but she highly doubted that tearfully talking things out was an option with Malfoy, so she would take closure where she could get it, and if it came from begrudgingly admitting that Malfoy no longer saw muggles and muggleborns as lower forms of life, then so be it.

They had eaten dinner at Harry and Ron’s last night, and thankfully the boys had been satisfied with a grunted ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ when she was asked about Malfoy. This had also meant that there hadn’t been time for Ginny to properly grill her, so Hermione was feeling a tiny bit more secure in her opinions today after yesterday’s revelations.

She was back waiting at the visitor’s entrance to the Ministry, and was happily anticipating another disaster of a tube journey, today they were going to Earl’s Court to meet with a regular informant for the Muggle Liaison Office. It was still only a few stops, but despite the small drama of losing her charge after ten minutes, it had been fun to watch Malfoy stumble around outside his comfort zone. She remembered reading over the case file for this meeting a few days ago and grinning at the sheer ridiculousness of it, if nothing else, today should provide plenty of opportunities to put Malfoy off balance for a change. It was immature, yes, but provided she didn’t let it affect any actual decisions, she could live with allowing herself to indulge in a little immaturity.

Today she saw him coming, but to her mild horror, when she saw that shock of white hair round the corner into the side street, she felt a thrum of… something. It wasn’t nerves, nor was it rage or disgust, which was what she was accustomed to feeling upon seeing him. No, this was more like an uneasy sort of anticipation; uneasy, but not entirely unpleasant. Yesterday had been a shock in more ways than one, and she was still reeling from the revelation that Draco Malfoy might not be quite the evil villain she had thought him to be. He was still a piece of work, that was for sure, but she couldn’t deny that this morning she saw him in something of a new light.

“Morning Granger,” he drawled.

“Malfoy.” She said, giving him a terse nod.

“So, what scintillating new muggle innovations will we be discovering today?” he asked, with unnerving and almost certainly fake enthusiasm. She rolled her eyes at him and to her surprise, he gave her the smallest of smiles. She sighed exasperatedly, but couldn’t help grinning back, which disturbed her deeply.

“Today we’ll be meeting with one of the Muggle Liaison Office’s contacts, getting an update on muggle affairs, tips on potential breaks of the statute of secrecy, that sort of thing.”

“Hmm, sounds riveting.” He said, all trace of enthusiasm, fake or otherwise, vanished.

“I hate to break it to you, but your court mandated rehabilitation program isn’t _supposed_ to be fun.”

“Yes, yes, and I fully intend to comply with any and all conditions set by the court etcetera, etcetera- can we just get on with it?”

“Such eagerness. I’ll be sure to put it in my report.” She said dryly.

“How very generous of you.”

There was a slightly awkward silence in which they both tried to adjust to the lack of open hostility between them. For her part, Hermione still wasn’t sure she was entirely comfortable with it. She cleared her throat and turned away to start towards the tube station.

“Alright, let’s go, today we’re going to Earl’s Court, try not to get lost again.”

“I did _not_ get lost-” He started, drawing himself up indignantly, but she forced a laugh and kept walking.

He still looked sulky when they entered the station, though he perked up slightly after he managed to navigate the ticket gates without incident. The station was less busy than the other day, and he had only a shadow of unease on his face as he stepped gingerly onto the escalator.

He was a step below her, but his height meant that they were pretty much face to face, though he was blissfully silent for the moment. Suddenly, someone in a hurry pushed past her as they rushed down the steps, and she stumbled forward slightly, grabbing at his shoulder to steady herself and putting their faces mere inches from each other.

She could smell his cologne.

She could see the tiny grey striations in his irises.

What was _wrong _with her today?

He blinked, and the moment dissolved in an instant as his face rearranged itself into its usual smirk. She released his shoulder abruptly and stepped back as if she had been burnt, bumping into the person behind her. She mumbled an apology, and scowled down at Malfoy, mortified at the rising blush she could feel on her cheeks.

“Careful, Granger, what _would_ your dear Weasel say?”

Hermione opened her mouth to correct him, but shut it quickly. Really it was none of his business whether or not she and Ron were together anymore, and the idea of having to explain to Malfoy of all people why they had broken up was deeply unappealing. She supposed she should be grateful he didn’t already know every little detail just from the gossip that naturally floated around. The wizarding community was very small, after all, but she supposed he hadn’t exactly been in the loop these past few years. She huffed and glared at him. 

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

He chuckled, and she narrowed her eyes, hoping pettily that he would be tripped up at the bottom of the escalator, but to her disappointment, he stepped off smoothly as if he had done it a thousand times. A train pulled into the station almost immediately, and they even managed to get seats.

“What the-”

She followed Malfoy’s gaze to about halfway down the carriage where a few girls were sat. One was dressed in a green corset, wearing a bright orange wig that cascaded down over her lap and covered head to toe in green body paint, while the other was wearing what looked like futuristic armour. Both outfits looked extremely uncomfortable to be wearing on the tube, but she smiled anyway, because she could swear she could _see_ the cogs turning in Malfoy’s brain. The costumes were eccentric, sure, but not in the same way as wizarding attire, and she took perverse pleasure in knowing that he couldn’t figure it out.

“What is going on?” he called over the racket of the train.

“Shh, we don’t talk on the tube.” She said, allowing herself a small smile.

The girls got off at the same stop as them and Hermione was pleased to see more oddly dressed people on the platform, including someone in a full Chewbacca costume.

“What is going on?” he repeated, looking thoroughly unnerved, “Is that a yeti?”

“I believe it’s called a wookiee,” she said smugly.

“What’s it doing on the muggle underground?” he hissed.

“Apparently I need to clarify that it is most likely a muggle in a wookiee _costume_.” She smirked.

“You really are an insufferable know-it-all, aren’t you?” He snapped, stalking after her towards the exit. “I don’t know how people put up with you.”

“Careful, Malfoy,” she warned as they mounted the escalator, but his expression had changed from mild consternation to one of cold determination.

“Oh, I am being careful. You’ll notice there’s no trace of a word about your heritage, and as far as I know I’m still allowed to dislike you personally without putting my freedom in jeopardy. I’m sure you’d be just as unbearable if you were a pureblood anyway.”

“You certainly are.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” he said, his grin widening.

“Well that may be so but I didn’t think you were stupid enough to deliberately insult the person who controls your freedom,”

“Oh please,” he scoffed, “I very much doubt you’d let a few stray insults affect your precious _work_.”

Oh, what she would give for a little privacy right now, she could hex him into oblivion without a shred of regret. As they stepped out of the station she grabbed his arm and steered him sharply out of the crowds. She had only really intended to stop him from getting swept away in the tide of people, but she was still simmering with anger, and she found herself pushing him with a little more force than was necessary towards an empty stretch of wall beside the station exit.

“You don’t know me, Malfoy,” she growled, jabbing a finger into his chest, “And as far as I can tell, your stakes in this program are a hell of a lot higher than mine, so if I were you, I would ease up on the insults.”

A crease appeared between his eyebrows, and for a second she thought she saw a flash of anger in his eyes, but then his lip curled up in a grin, though it seemed a little forced.

“Whatever you say, Granger,” he said smoothly, shrugging in an almost convincing display of nonchalance. She studied him for a moment, suspicious at the ease of his surrender. He did look uncomfortable, though he was clearly trying to hide it, and Hermione wished he wasn’t so much taller than her, it seriously limited her intimidation potential. She abruptly realised that she was standing rather too close for comfort. The air was chilly and she could feel his heat through his coat. She stepped away smartly, folding her arms and scowling to mask her own discomfort.

“Fine. Come on.”

She strode off briskly without waiting for a reply, and tried not to think about what Ginny would have said if she had seen that last exchange.

***

The contact was a squib named Aaron who had gone into hiding after Voldemort’s return and apparently been happy enough with his life as a muggle that he pretty much kept out of the wizarding world these days. They met him in a bright little café which was full of more costumed people and buzzing with excited conversation.

“Um, Aaron?”

“That’s me! You from the Ministry then?”

“Er, I am, yes. He’s just- tagging along.” Said Hermione, feeling awkward.

“Work experience, is it?” asked Aaron, smiling kindly at Malfoy, who scowled back in sullen silence.

“Not exactly,” she said, smiling apologetically.

“Come on then, they’ve got some private meeting rooms in the back.” Aaron picked up his cup and started weaving through the crowded tables towards the back of the café.

“Seriously, you’re really not going to explain any of this?” hissed Malfoy at Hermione, gesturing at a table of cosplayers.

“It’s comic-con!” said Aaron brightly, “Pretty good camouflage, huh?”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?” sneered Malfoy.

“They’re dressed up as fictional characters,” said Hermione, chuckling, “It’s like a big meet up of people who like certain books or films,”

“Yeah!”

“But… why?” asked Malfoy flatly.

“Because they want to? It’s fun…” said Aaron, deflating slightly as Malfoy raised a judgmental eyebrow at him. “Anyway, it _is_ great camouflage, a lot of the time wizards can be pretty conspicuous out here, even the ones from Muggle Liaisons, but here, who’d notice? I mean, look,” he jerked his chin at a nearby table where two Gandalfs, a hobbit and some sort of alien were sat drinking coffee. Hermione smiled as she remembered her father reading The Hobbit to her as a small child.

“It’s fascinating too,” she said as Aaron led them into a small room beyond the main café, “There are so many different muggle representations of magic and wizards and witches, based on various myths and stories,”

“Mmm, yes, _fascinating_,” said Malfoy sardonically, sending her a look that sparked her ire again. She tried to ignore it though, and focused on the gentle flow of magic as she silenced the room. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but she thought it was prudent, given that Malfoy didn’t exactly have much experience with muggles, and camouflage or no, and she didn’t fancy having to deal with any fallout he might incur.

The report was pretty standard, an hour or so of them sitting and making notes as Aaron rattled on about social media and a few new TV programmes and films which might be considered a little too close to the truth in terms of magic that the Ministry could keep an eye on should they wish to. However, it became pretty clear after an hour passed that Aaron was eager to get going, evidently he had intended to have a quick meeting with them and spend the rest of the day at the convention. Plus, Malfoy was starting to fidget, and that couldn’t be a good sign.

Aaron left hurriedly, gathering up his things and sweeping out of the room with only a hurried goodbye, leaving Hermione and Malfoy to wrap things up.

“Well that was terribly dull.”

“Not supposed to be fun, remember?” she muttered distractedly as she scribbled down the last of her notes. She should have enchanted the pen to take the notes autonomously really, there were muggle repelling charms and everything, but it hadn’t occurred to her and now she wasn’t going to admit her mistake. He stood up and stretched luxuriantly, yawning lazily.

“I’m starving,”

“Sit down, Malfoy.”

“What, I’m not allowed to stretch now?” He was smirking again, and once again she found herself getting irritated by his lazy confidence. He had no right to it, and even though she knew she should just ignore him, she found that the expanding coil of anger in her stomach wouldn’t let her.

“Just sit down, will you? I’ve got to finish this.” She snapped.

“It really bothers you when you’re working and someone else isn’t, doesn’t it?”

“Malfoy…” she warned, but she knew it wouldn’t work, he was leaning casually against the wall and smiling like a Cheshire cat.

“Wow, I don’t know how, but your hair somehow gets _bigger _when you’re annoyed.” 

She gritted her teeth and tried to focus on the words on the page. _Don’t give him the satisfaction…_ _What would Ginny do? Probably cast a bat bogey hex at him, it is her speciality after all… no! What would Ginny _say_? She'd tell you to just ignore him…_

“You know, I can’t help but wonder if you and that great bearded oaf, Hagrid are related somehow, I can certainly see the resemblance-”

“Oh, that is _it_!” she slammed the pen down onto the table and stood up abruptly, making her chair screech on the floorboards.

“Ooh, touched a nerve, have I? well, I suppose I wouldn’t want to be related to that half-breed idiot either.” he folded his arms over his stupid expensive shirt and in that moment Hermione thought that Azkaban might be an acceptable price to pay for wiping that smug smirk off his face. Her wand was still on the table behind her though, so no unforgivables today, she’d have to be satisfied with the muggle way of doing things.

She pulled her elbow back, clenched her fist and aimed a punch right at his stupid bloody nose. To her annoyance, he saw it coming and caught her arm before the punch connected.

“What the-” He started, the smile hadn’t quite left his face yet, but she was already pulling back her other fist, which he caught again, holding onto her wrists. She hadn’t felt rage like this for a long time, and she felt totally out of control as she wrenched her arms back out of his grip, shoving him hard in the chest so that his back slammed up against the wall.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snarled, his hair askew and a pale flush rising on his cheeks.

“You! You’re what’s fucking wrong!” she yelled, poking him with her finger. “With your stupid fucking smirk and your… your stupid fucking face!”

“Oh, very eloquent-”

“Oh, for once in your pathetic life, will you just shut the fuck up!”

“Make me!”

They stared at each other for a beat, their chests heaving and their fists clenched at their sides. Hermione could hear the blood pounding in her ears, she distantly felt the pain of her fingernails digging into her palms, the thrum of her pulse vibrating through every inch of her body. Suddenly, the horrifying truth hit her… _Oh no… no… this isn’t just anger anymore… this is-_

She didn’t know who moved first, but there was barely time to blink before their mouths crashed together in a searing, bruising kiss, and every rational thought in her head evaporated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it begins....
> 
> I struggled a lot with this chapter, I feel like it's one reference away from having Bill Weasley jumping over a shark in the background of the tube scene. Oh well, I'm having fun at least :p


	7. Debriefing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter inspired by this excellent exchange from Star Trek TNG:
> 
> Picard: If we weren't around all these people, do you know what I would like to do?
> 
> Louvois: Bust a chair across my teeth.
> 
> Picard: After that.
> 
> Louvois: Oh, ain't love wonderful.

Hermione was trapped. Trapped in a storm of grasping, roaming hands and breathless, desperate kisses. She kissed him with the fervour of a drowning woman gasping for air, and he responded in kind, devouring her as if his very life depended on it. She wound her hand around the back of his neck, eliciting a low hiss from him when she clenched her fist harshly, pulling on his hair. He bit down on her lip in response, pulling back a fraction so he could stare into her eyes with an intensity that somehow both paralysed her and set her aflame.

_Is this really happening?_

She felt light-headed, simultaneously delirious and furious as he tugged at her hair and plunged his tongue between her lips with a voracity that only fuelled the fire within her. God, he kissed like a demon, nipping and sucking and coaxing tiny, muffled noises from her that were so delightfully sinful that she was sure that if she had a shred of rational thought left she would have been mortified. Determined to give as good as she got, she raked her fingernails over his scalp, using her other hand to tug at his tie to pull him ever closer, and was rewarded with a strangled moan from him that seemed to vibrate through her body right down to her toes.

_Wait, how the hell did this even happen? She had been angry and then-_

He broke the kiss, leaving her panting roughly, her fist clenched around his silk tie as he traced the shell of her ear with his tongue. He kissed and nibbled down her neck, his breath sending tingles down her spine, and when he reached her jaw, he bit down and sucked, hard, making her gasp and writhe against him, caught between rage and desperate anticipation.

_Fuck... that’ll leave a mark, what if Ginny sees?_

_What if Ginny sees the LOVEBITE that DRACO FUCKING MALFOY just left on your neck?!_

_What the hell am I _doing_?!_

She jerked his head away by his hair, his lips leaving her neck with a soft _pop_, then pushed him back by the shoulders and took a wobbly step backwards, her eyes wide as her hand flew to her mouth.

They stared wild-eyed at each other for several seconds before either dared to speak.

“What the-”

“Fuck.”

“I mean-”

“Fuck.”

“I don’t know what-”

“Fuck.”

“Well… yeah. Fuck.”

She felt shaky and oddly faint. It had all happened so quickly… one minute she was incandescent with rage, ready to tear his face off with her bare hands, and the next she was kissing him like a woman possessed. Oh god… she had just _kissed_ Malfoy… she felt sick. She took another step back and bumped into the table, but Malfoy was still standing frozen against the wall, looking at her with naked astonishment. If she hadn’t been quite so shocked, she might have laughed. His suit jacket was half-off, hanging lamely off his left shoulder, his tie was loose and crooked, his lips were swollen and red, and his hair was like a bird’s nest. She dreaded to think what _her _hair looked like.

Suddenly, the absurdity of the situation washed over her, and unbidden, she felt her lip curl into a grin, and laughter bubble up in her chest. She let out a small giggle, and when she realised she recognised his expression for the time she’d punched him at Hogwarts, her giggle turned into a full laugh. Her shoulders shook and she clutched at the edge of the table to steady herself.

“What’s so bloody funny?” he asked tightly, squaring his shoulders defensively and somehow mustering up the dignity to shrug his jacket back on properly, but the question only intensified Hermione’s hysterical laughter.

“I- this- you,” she managed breathlessly, “You and me- It’s-_ pffft_,” she devolved into more giggles, much to his visible chagrin.

“I don’t think your beloved Weasel would be so amused,” he said nastily, his eyes glinting, but she only laughed harder.

“He- he would literally kill you!”

“Can’t imagine it’d be fun for you either,” he muttered sourly, and suddenly understanding dawned on her like ice water, effectively quashing her mirth. She narrowed her eyes and tried to catch her breath as the giggles started to subside.

“You conniving little shit,” she gasped, “You thought I was _cheating_?”

“I-what?”

“You thought I was cheating on Ron with _you_?”

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘_didn’t hear you complaining’_, and folded his arms, not meeting her eyes.

“God, you are _such _an _arsehole_! What, you thought you could get one over on him by getting me to cheat, is that it?”

“I didn’t fucking plan this!” he snarled, “I didn’t think you’d _assault_ me over a stupid crack about your _hair_ of all things, and I _certainly_ didn’t think you’d then proceed to bloody attach your face to mine like a flobberworm-”

“Don’t be stupid, Malfoy, flobberworms don’t even have teeth.” She sniffed haughtily, trying not to dwell on the rather unflattering comparison.

“Ugh, you are _unbelievable_!”

“Didn’t hear you complaining,” she said mockingly, imitating his voice with what she thought was admirable accuracy.

She saw his jaw clench and smirked to herself, if nothing else it was _fun_ to rile him up, although she could already feel her own temper rising again. She wanted to hit him again, punish him for- god, she didn’t even know _what _she wanted to punish him for anymore. Her thoughts were a chaotic, tangled mess and she could feel a cold edge of panic on the horizon. The worst part of all of this was that she knew in her heart of hearts (and in, well, other places too if she was honest) that she had _enjoyed_ kissing Malfoy, enjoyed the explosion of passion, the small, sharp spikes of pain when he had nipped at her lip with his teeth, or gripped her hips a little too tight. More than this, she had enjoyed testing and teasing and using her teeth and nails to torture him as much as he did her-

Oh shit, he had that look on his face again.

He pounced, grinning wickedly as he grabbed her wrist, yanking her across the room and jostling the table. Their wands clattered to the floor, forgotten. He spun her around so now she had her back to the wall. He wasn’t gentle, but she realised hazily that he was moving slow enough to give her ample opportunity to tear herself free if she wanted to. As he pushed her against the hard wall, she shivered and realised that right now, all she really wanted was to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face, and if that was achieved by snogging him senseless, well, that was just a bonus, wasn’t it?

God, what was _wrong_ with her?

She didn’t have time to ponder that question though, because he chose that moment to thrust his knee between her legs, rubbing his thigh against her centre and making her drop her head back against the wall with a small thud.

“Ow, shit,”

“Careful there, Granger,” he purred, lips a hairs breadth from hers.

“God, I hate you,”

“The feeling’s mutual,” he growled, and for the first time since this whole ridiculous program started Hermione began to question how true that actually was.

Deciding that she would really rather not open that can of worms right now, she grabbed him by the back of the neck and dragged him down to close the distance between them.

“We broke up a year ago, you prick,” she gasped between kisses.

“Well I can’t deny there was a certain savage pleasure in knowing I was fucking him over,” he murmured into her neck, making her shiver at the rasp of teeth over her sensitive skin. “But I think I’ll live.” 

“You are the _worst_,” she growled as he pinned her to the wall with his weight, pressing his hips against her and making her breath hitch at the friction. She tightened her grip on his neck, taking his bottom lip between her teeth and canting her hips ever so slightly to rock on his thigh. She couldn’t help it, she let out a breathy moan as pleasure surged through her, at the same time, he ground into her and deepened the kiss, leaving her in no doubt of his arousal.

She was terrified and excited and angry, and god, was she turned on. Surely this was too many things for one human to feel. Where was the plain old disgust and hatred she was used to? That was so much easier, it meant she didn’t have to deal with the fact that she really, really liked the way he groaned and tightened his grip on her when she pulled his hair.

Suddenly, there was a sharp knock on the door and they sprung apart as if they’d been electrocuted.

“Erm, sorry to bother you, but the room’s only booked until 12,” came a muffled voice from outside, “I’ve got another group out here,”

_Thank god he didn’t come in…_ She thought, sure that they looked exactly like two horny teenagers, caught fooling around behind the school…

“Oh, sorry! Just wrapping things up, two minutes!” she squeaked, embarrassed at how thin and overwrought her voice sounded. The man outside grunted his approval and Hermione started bustling around the small room and gathering up their papers, desperately avoiding looking at Malfoy.

Oh god, what had she been thinking? What was she _thinking_? Had she really been about to…to… oh god, she couldn’t even bear to think it. God, what a mess. What a monumental and spectacular fuck up. Mature professionalism was now a distant, blurry shadow in her rear view mirror, shimmering like a mirage, way back over the line she had happily crossed when she had first tried to punch him. Now she was so far past the line she could barely see it. Somehow she doubted that ‘I was high on rage and hormones’ was an acceptable excuse at the Ministry, no matter how accurate it was.

How long had it been, anyway? She wondered as she slipped the last of the paperwork into her bag. There had been that guy a few months after the breakup, they had gone on a few dates and she had taken him back up to her flat for a night of mediocre but sorely needed intimacy. He had been pleasant enough, but she would be lying if she’d asked him up for any reason other than simply needing to scratch the itch. Not her proudest moment. How long ago was that? Must be nearly ten months now. No wonder she was so pent up. She shook her head vigorously in disgust. Being _pent up_ was absolutely no excuse for wanting to climb Draco Malfoy like a tree.

“Are you… ok?” he asked gruffly, and it took a second for his words to register with her brain. “You seem…” he trailed off awkwardly and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

She blinked at him and decided that right now she simply didn’t have enough mental energy to try and process the fact that Malfoy was displaying _concern_ for her.

“That’s all of it.” She said flatly. “Let’s go. Don’t forget your wand.”

She watched numbly as he picked up his wand, nodding mechanically when he pocketed it, then turned sharply on her heel and opened the door to the main café, stepping out once again into muggle London.

They walked back to the tube station in silence. Given the situation she had seriously considered going to the apparition point and simply apparating back to the Ministry, but ultimately she decided she should probably just do it by the book from now on. Stick to the plan and just see this thing through and never have to see him or speak of this ever again.

They were silent on the escalator, and on the platform. During the train journey his knee bumped hers a couple of times, making them both shuffle awkwardly away from each other in the cramped seats. By the time they trudged into the dingy little office in Muggle Liaisons, Hermione marvelled slightly that they had managed the entire journey back without making eye contact.

She finished his paperwork with the absolute minimum of human contact, sure that the ditzy receptionist would see the truth in her eyes immediately if she looked hard enough. Although she wouldn’t have to look very hard to see the love bite on her neck that she had forgotten to conceal up in her rush to get out of the muggle café. Her hair covered it mostly, but even so she almost ran to the ladies room, which was blissfully deserted, to cast a quick charm to disguise the shameful evidence of their-uh- indiscretion.

She took a deep breath before rejoining Malfoy in the office. She was so close, so very close to just being done with him. All this confusion and self-doubt would be gone once this infernal program was finished, she could just go back to her werewolf policy and keep on going like nothing ever happened, and Malfoy would never darken her doorway again. Yup. This afternoon had been a weird fluke. She definitely did _not_ want more, and there was _definitely _not a tiny part of her that kind of wished that they hadn’t been interrupted.

When she opened the door, he was wearing his usual self-satisfied mask, reclining in the spindly office chair and looking like he owned the place. She noticed he had loosened his tie, or had he just not tightened it after she had tugged on it earlier? Had he just been wandering around the Ministry like that, like some infantile trophy? That little shit… she wanted to… wanted to- no! _Don’t start this again!_ She told herself, focusing on projecting an air of utter indifference. This only resulted in them maintaining eye contact for a little longer than was necessary, however, as both of them were apparently trying to outlast the other. Eventually, Hermione just huffed and rolled her eyes, taking a seat and pushing the last of the paperwork over to him.

“You just need to sign these and then we’re done.” She said, her tone a little colder than she had intended.

“Just like that?” he asked in a low voice, flicking his eyes up to her and raising a pale brow at her, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. The look in his eyes was sin incarnate, and if she didn’t know better, she might have thought he was flirting with her, but, well, that _couldn’t_ happen. That was _not _happening. Absolutely not.

“Just like that.” She echoed coolly, leaning hard into the ice-queen persona.

“Not even a hint about my fate?” he said, pouting melodramatically.

“Now that would be telling.” Their eyes met and for a moment the electricity was back, and Hermione was very glad that they were on opposite sides of the desk this time. She cleared her throat and focused hard on the completed forms in front of her. God, even his signature was obnoxious.

“Mm, I should have known really,” he said, “You’ve made it quite clear that you rather enjoy torturing me.”

Her stomach swooped and for the umpteenth time today she cursed the way her traitorous body reacted to him. She pinched the bridge of her nose irritably.

“Ok, Malfoy, two things. First of all, you have been purposefully antagonising me literally nonstop since this thing started, so at the very least it was mutual torture.”

“Fair enough,” he muttered, looking amused.

“And secondly, this afternoon was a weird fluke, it will _never_ happen again, and you- are you listening? You. Will. Tell. _No-one_.”

“Who am I going to tell? In case you haven’t noticed, Granger, I’m not exactly Mr Popular these days. It’s not like I’m proud of it anyway, you’re hardly my favourite person.”

“Don’t start, Malfoy,”

“What?” he chuckled, “Merlin knows I’m clearly not your favourite either. But if what you’re saying is that you definitely do not want a repeat of earlier-”

“I am.”

“-Then I can respect that.”

“Good.”

“Even though it would be fun.”

“I- shut up, Malfoy.”

He laughed richly and signed the last page with a flourish, sliding it over the desk towards her.

“There, just like that.”

She stared at him for a moment, before sighing and shuffling the papers.

“Fine. I guess you’re free to go, metaphorically at least.”

“How gracious of you. Have I mentioned recently that I really _don’t _enjoy your company?”

“Possibly, I wasn’t listening.” She shot back at him, fighting a smile. He grinned widely from across the desk, then sighed heavily in mock defeat and began to gather up his things. He stepped around the desk and paused for a moment next to her.

“It’s been fun, Granger,” he husked, reminding her for a moment of how his breath had felt on her neck, but before she could reply, the door clicked open, then shut, and he was gone.


	8. Reflections

Draco Malfoy was officially dazed and confused when he finally returned to the manor that afternoon. It was a little early for spirits, and he thought he saw the house elf raise a disapproving eyebrow at him when she brought him a glass and a decanter of single malt, but he felt like he needed to ground himself after today’s ah- _excitement_.

He sat back in the plush leather armchair and stared down into the deep, amber liquid. Well, well, this was a turn up for the books, wasn’t it?

Draco had tried thinking about her once or twice at Hogwarts (purely for research purposes, of course) and he had always imagined her as the blushing, prudish schoolgirl, the rare fantasies he had involving her always revolving around him debauching her and generally teaching her a lesson for being such an insufferable nightmare, and inevitably he would give them up after a short time in favour of fantasising about girls he was _actually _attracted to. Girls who actually had any kind of perceptible sexuality.

Well, now he knew better. Now he knew that his characterisation of her as the meek, stuffy, probably repressed know-it-all couldn’t be further from the truth. In reality she had shoved him up against the wall, bitten him and pulled his hair, and fuck if he hadn’t loved every second of it. She had been delightfully rough, scratching and biting like an angry cat. He wondered if Weasley had seen this side of her, and felt oddly annoyed at the idea.

No, somehow he doubted that that loping idiot had ever incurred the white-hot wrath that had spurred that rather spectacular reaction from her. He simply wasn’t intelligent enough to rile her up that much. Yes, that was it. There was no way Weasley had the pure, devious malice necessary to enrage her so. Probably missionary all the way, all nauseatingly devoted and-

He grimaced, took a large sip of whiskey and tried to think about something other than Granger and Weasley’s sad sex life. Not that his own sex life was particularly interesting these days. Pansy had thrown him a pity fuck a few times over the years when he had been at his lowest, but for the most part it was tumbleweeds and cold showers here at Malfoy Manor.

Merlin, he couldn’t _wait_ to get out of this place. Even if it hadn’t been for the many traumatic memories that still clung to the place, it was still cold and dark and isolated, a far cry from what he would have imagined for himself as a rich, attractive twenty-something. He had long since moved out of the main house, leaving his parents to continue their grey, broken existence in peace while he stayed in a small annex off the main manor, and had found to his surprise that he didn’t miss it. The common room back at Hogwarts had been a literal dungeon, but it was still more homely than his actual childhood bedroom, which now seemed to taunt him with the ghost of a younger, more naïve Draco. A Draco who swaggered with easy confidence, safe in the knowledge that his worldview was _right_, and burdened by nothing more than juvenile rivalries, homework and quidditch practice.

He had done his very best to channel that Draco when he had been confronted with Granger at the beginning of the week, misguided though it may have been- although given the eventual results he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it. Immature, yes, but at the time he had acted on instinct, desperate not to allow her to see the cowed, shadow of his old self that he had become as a result of having his whole worldview forcibly dismantled and rebuilt, as well as several years of almost total isolation. He had poked and berated and mocked because he couldn’t bear to face her smug, self-satisfied face smirking down at him from her high horse… Well, that was what he told himself at least. He suspected the truth was far sadder, buried down in the pathetic, cobwebbed depths of his subconscious, where he could still hear Aunt Bellatrix cackling, and he just stood there like a stump while her victims screamed…

He shook his head sharply and took another gulp of whiskey. No use dwelling on it. He had learned the hard way that wallowing in the sombre ambience and haunting memories of this place never ended well. Still, it hadn’t helped matters that the last time he’d seen Granger was at his trial, and the time before that was the battle of Hogwarts. Before that, well… her screams had seemed to echo for weeks after their little group of misfits had escaped…

With that in mind, this week had been an unmitigated success, at least relative to his past relationship with her. It had been a bit of a risk to flirt as much as he had just before he left, and he probably shouldn’t have suggested a repeat performance, though he’d be lying if he hadn’t enjoyed that split second of faltering confusion on her face after he’d said it would be fun. And Merlin, it would be fun… Still, it was obvious that she was rattled by it, he was too if he was honest, this sort of thing just wasn’t supposed to happened between almost lifelong enemies, and it was thoroughly disorientating to have one’s opinion of a person completely turned on its head over the course of just a few days. Anyway, he knew that this simply _couldn’t_ evolve into anything other than what it was. What did she call it? A weird fluke. He wasn’t even sure that wanted it to be anything else. It wasn’t even about their differing heritages, not really, though he was fairly certain his family would have a collective heart attack if they ever found out about it. No, the simple fact was that they had spent half their lives as enemies, and she, at least had made a life for herself, surrounded by people who hated him and everything (they thought) he stood for. That wasn’t the sort of thing that could just be wiped away by a roll in the hay, no matter how spectacular it may or may not have been...

He didn’t think that Granger would let today’s events actually affect her decision, at least, he fervently hoped so. He had been so very sure that she was this smug, irritating caricature of morality and pedantry, but caricatures of morality and pedantry didn’t slam their old enemies up against walls and snog them within an inch of their lives, apparently for no other reason than to teach them a lesson. And what a lesson… He hadn’t been that embarrassingly turned on in public since he was a teenager, and certainly not over _Granger_ of all bloody people. He’d had to hold his coat over his arm in front of him to hide his erection as they’d left the café.

Maybe he should just give up on thinking he knew anything about her. He had been pretty sure that she just would have turned the other cheek his stupid, infantile barbs about her hair or being a know-it-all, but he hadn’t expected that kiss –_fuck, that kiss…all heat and tongues and-_

Anyway. He hadn’t expected it, and now he was way out in unchartered waters and suddenly uncomfortably unsure of his future. What if, contrary to his previous belief, she was in fact _not_ a bastion of stifling rationality and righteousness, but in fact would have no qualms whatsoever about rejecting his sorry arse out of sheer spite? Maybe even just out of awkwardness? Probably not. Even given these new, intriguing revelations about her character, he still couldn’t believe she would be quite that petty.

Draco swirled the whiskey around in the ornate crystal glass, he noted its peaty, smoky aroma and relished the pleasant burn as he took another sip, his mind wandering inexorably back to the feel of her body pressed up against his, his hand in her hair as she moaned into his mouth.

He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to fuck her properly. A desperate, sweaty, _glorious_ power struggle from start to finish, if today’s display was anything to go by. Suddenly he was lost in a cloud of tantalising ‘what if’s. What if that impertinent muggle had never interrupted them? What if they had just kept going, burning and burning until they were simply _spent_? What would she feel like, naked and overwrought, pressed up against his bare body? Would she whimper and moan, or throw her head back and scream his name with wanton abandon?

With a small shock he realised that he wanted to find out, badly.

He was in trouble.

***

Hermione was disappointed for a moment when she entered the dark, empty apartment, before she remembered that today was Harry and Ginny’s anniversary and she likely would be away most of the weekend. She felt a small pang of loneliness and agitation. She still didn’t know whether or not she actually wanted to tell Ginny about any of this, but right now she felt utterly overwhelmed by the sheer weight of her actions and their implications, and it might have done her good to let some of it out. Ginny might love to hear gossip, but she wasn’t a blabbermouth, not when it mattered anyway, and even given the inflammatory nature of this particular revelation, Hermione was fairly sure that she could keep it to herself, at least until Hermione had time to work through it herself.

She turned on the lights and bustled around for a few minutes in the kitchen before giving it up and digging out the takeaway menu. She ordered a delivery on the phone and plonked herself down on the sofa, not really sure what to do with herself. In the end she had approved him, with only a few, very thin, very petty second thoughts. After all, she couldn’t very well screw up his whole life (more than he already had himself at least) over a bit of awkwardness over an isolated incident. Isolated incident or not, her mind kept drifting back to this afternoon, and the way his hand had felt tangled in her hair, anchoring her as he plundered her mouth with his tongue and pressed himself against her.

There might not be any _feelings_ involved per se, but she was still horrified at the way her body had reacted to him. She hated how much she had loved it, and damn, she really had loved every second of it. Maybe love was the wrong word, but she couldn’t remember a time she had felt such intense _lust_, lust with a burning edge of rage that had sharpened every sensation. No relationship to consider, no friendship to ruin, just two people holding on for dear life as they allowed themselves to be overtaken by… that.

Ugh, she couldn’t believe she was waxing poetic about _Malfoy_. She needed a drink.

Today wasn’t a wine day, or a nice, refreshing gin and tonic kind of day, she opened the booze cupboard and fished out the mostly forgotten bottle of scotch that hunched intimidatingly behind the more sociable drinks. It was decent scotch, but strong, and she coughed and spluttered loudly as she made the mistake of just knocking the first glass back without thinking. What was he playing at anyway, asking if she was ok? She took another gulp. This one was easier, and she already felt a little tipsy, though that was probably just wishful thinking.

“Fucking Malfoy!” she exclaimed to the apartment at large. How _dare_ he be attractive? This would all have been so very much easier if he’d just stayed as that pinched faced, watery little ferret that used to get all sour and sulky every time she beat him in classes.

By the time the food arrived she was toeing the line between pleasantly tipsy and actually drunk. How _dare _he like the science museum? The fucking nerve…She knew exactly what Ginny would say; just forget about it, the weeks over, just let it go. Something about not getting all obsessive and homoerotic like Harry, don’t just sit around thinking about him and get yourself all worked up…

_His hand in her hair, pinning her to the wall with his hips. She could feel even through his suit that he was fit, she could have just ripped that absurdly expensive (she assumed) shirt off and see for herself exactly how fit. Keep the tie though. She could have shoved him backwards, walk him back to the desk, push him down onto it and fuck that cocky smirk right off his face until he was screaming her name…_

Maybe she should stop drinking.

***

She didn’t see Ginny until the next afternoon when she stumbled in still wearing her sequined dress from last night, still looking very glamorous despite her smudged makeup and messy hair. Hermione looked up from her tea and her book and raised an eyebrow at her.

“Bit overdressed, aren’t you?”

“Har har, maybe you’re just underdressed.”

“I’ll have you know that my fuzzy pyjamas are entirely appropriate attire for a sleepy Saturday morning.”

“It’s the afternoon. I know because I didn’t leave Harry’s bed until at least midday.”

“Ew, Ginny, I didn’t need to know that.”

“Oh, come on, you asked for it,” she smirked, grabbing a cup from the kitchen and pouring a cup of tea for herself before joining Hermione at the table.

“Good anniversary then? No dirty details though, I beg you.”

“Yeah, pretty good,” her smile faltered a little, “Ok, so I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news,”

“Go on then,” she said tiredly.

“The good news is that your week of hell is over, yay!”

“Well I knew that much,” she grumbled, sipping her tea.

“OK, well, the bad news is, um, I was talking to Harry, who was talking to Kingsley, and apparently it’s a big secret for now at least, and it’s not a completely sure thing-”

Hermione’s stomach dropped. She was sure that whatever this was going to be, she wouldn’t like it.

“What’s this about, Ginny?”

“Er, well obviously there’ll be a probation period, and-”

“Spit it out!”

“Malfoy’s going to work at the ministry.”

“_What_!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little snippet of Draco's POV, hope you enjoyed it ;)


	9. In the Cold Light of Day

**Three Months later. **

Hermione had thus far managed to do an excellent job of avoiding Malfoy since he had started work at the Improper Use of Magic Office. She had heard he was working in the Cursed Objects Department, to identify and pacify cursed objects, and apparently he was quite good at it. He wasn’t exactly popular, but when his name came up it wasn’t usually with the same vitriol that had accompanied it in the past. It seemed that most people were starting to begrudgingly accept him, though Harry and Ron still gave him venomous looks when they thought no one was looking, and for obvious reasons, Hermione herself had avoided him like the plague. Thanks to Harry and Ron’s reactions, no one had questioned hers, though the three of them had already got one stern talking to by Kingsley about living and letting live and generally acting like grownups rather than sulky teenagers. She hadn’t ended up telling anyone about the… _incident_ between her and Malfoy, which was probably for the best, as neither of them needed any extra publicity at the moment.

Though it pained her to admit it, she admired his work ethic, it seemed like he genuinely wanted to just keep his head down and do his job with the minimum amount of drama, though this didn’t stop him from speaking his mind in a very Malfoy way and just generally being a bit of an arsehole, especially when he caught Harry and Ron glaring at him. That wasn’t unique in the Ministry though, which was full to bursting with arseholes of every variety, attracted to political power like moths to a flame.

She was eating lunch alone one day, half-concentrating on her book as she picked at her salad, when she saw him enter the break room out of the corner of her eye. Her stomach swooped and her pulse thrummed with anticipation, which only made her more irritated at his presence. What was he even doing on this floor? Cursed Objects was way down on the sixth floor. She looked around the small room quickly, it was pretty busy, and the only free chair was sitting across the small table from her. Shit. She chanced a look at him. He had noticed it too, standing stiffly at the door and looking like he was still deciding between fight and flight.

Their eyes met, and her chest felt tight, but he just gave her a terse nod and turned away to leave. She made a decision.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Malfoy, just sit down.” She called across the room, making a few people look up from their lunch. There were a few scattered sniggers and mutters as people saw who they were, but they quickly went back to their lunches, blissfully unaware of the true source of the tension between them. Malfoy picked his way around the tables, finally stopping and standing a little awkwardly by her table.

“Granger,” he muttered, giving her another nod.

“Malfoy,”

“I- uh- I thought you were up in policy on tenth?”

“I had a meeting with the Minister. I thought you were down on sixth?”

“Probation meeting.”

“Oh,”

“Yep,”

There was an extremely uncomfortable pause. He was still standing up, holding his sandwich tightly as if it was a shield between them.

“Oh, just sit down,” she sighed exasperatedly, “Let’s at least try and be grownups, shall we?”

“If you say so,” he murmured, finally sitting down and fixing her with a searching look. She ignored him and tried to go back to her book. Several minutes later, she chanced another look up, and was a little startled to find him still looking at her with an odd expression on his face, his sandwich sitting untouched between them.

“What?” she snapped.

“Nothing,” he said, the tiniest curl appearing at the corner of his mouth. “Nothing at all.”

Smug git.

She went back to reading and he started to unwrap his sandwich. After a few minutes, she decided to extend an olive branch in the spirit of maturity.

“That looks good.”

“Huh?”

“Your sandwich.”

“Oh, yeah it’s pretty good, Pattie made it, my uh- house elf…” he trailed off and looked away, somewhat less smug now. Hermione glared at him.

“Typical. I don’t know what I expected,”

“Oh, lighten up, Granger, she’s free, not that she was very happy about it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Well, according to your inane bloody legislation it _is _the point.” He retorted, eyebrows knitting together in a familiar scowl. She opened her mouth to reply heatedly that that was why people like _him_ didn’t make policy, but before she had a chance, she noticed that Harry and Ron had entered the room, and they had seen who she was eating with.

“What are you doing here?” growled Ron, seemingly unperturbed by the rest of the room swivelling to watch the drama unfold.

“Eating lunch. I would have thought that much was obvious,” Drawled Malfoy, leaning back in his chair and looking thoroughly amused. “If you must know, I had a meeting, not that it’s any of your business.”

“There weren’t any more seats,” supplied Hermione as Ron, Harry and Malfoy glowered at each other. “And we are being adults about all of this, _right_?”

There was a great deal of reluctant shuffling and grunting from the three of them.

“Good.” She said briskly, “Would you two like to go somewhere with more space? I can pack this up and come with you if you like.”

“No, no it’s fine. _You_ shouldn’t have to leave.” Said Harry pointedly. Malfoy sighed long-sufferingly and rolled his eyes as he started to wrap up his sandwich again.

“Honestly, Potter, you really don’t have a subtle bone in your body, do you? Did those muggles not teach you _any_ manners?”

“I’ll teach _you-_” Harry started, squaring up to Malfoy as he stood up from the table, and suddenly Hermione could see _exactly_ what Ginny meant when she talked about the weird dynamic between those two.

“He’s not worth it, mate,” said Ron, his hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry nodded, but looked unconvinced, as if he was weighing up the consequences of starting a fight at work with the satisfaction he’d get from punching him in the face. Well, Hermione certainly knew that feeling. Hermione couldn’t help it, she let out a small snort of laughter, and all three of them suddenly looked at her in surprise.

“What?” said Harry and Malfoy simultaneously, shooting each other a sideways glare as they realised they had spoken at the same time. This only amused Hermione more.

“Oh nothing,” she said, smiling sweetly at Malfoy, “Nothing at all.” For a split second, his eyes flashed with something terrifyingly similar to what she had seen in them all those months ago, something raw, and she suddenly worried that she had thrown herself back into dangerous waters with him.

“Oh, wipe that smug look off your face, Granger,” spat Malfoy, “Contrary to popular opinion, you don’t _actually_ know everything.”

“Hey!” Ron drew himself up, and Hermione knew he was making the most of the fact that he was actually taller than Malfoy. Honestly, if they weren’t careful they would all choke on the testosterone.

“Oh, just leave it, you lot,” she said tiredly. More shuffling and mumbling.

“Well, Potter, Weasley, I’ll leave you to your _single_ chair.” Said Malfoy, before giving her a salacious wink that she was absolutely sure was entirely for Ron’s benefit, especially given that Ron looked ready to explode, to Malfoy’s visible amusement. “Granger, always a pleasure.” And with that, he swept out of the break room.

“The nerve of that guy,” grumbled Ron as he sat down heavily in the now vacant seat, ignoring Harry’s indignant huff at being left to stand.

“Oh, don’t be so childish, Ron, he really was just having lunch. He does work here, same as all of us.”

“When did you get so pro-Malfoy?” he asked, a little sulkily, pouting when Hermione snorted again.

“Please, just because I wasn’t beating my chest and _grunting_ like you lot doesn’t mean I’m pro-Malfoy.” She rolled her eyes affectionately and shuffled over to perch on the edge of her seat, “Honestly, Neanderthals, the lot of you. Here, Harry, _geminio_.” She pointed her wand at her chair and a duplicate popped into existence beside her with a small squeaking noise.

“Thanks,” he grinned, sitting down. “What were you laughing at, anyway?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said, swatting at Ron’s hand as he tried to steal croutons from her salad, “Just something Ginny said.”

“What did Ginny say?” asked Harry suspiciously.

“Oh, was it that thing about-” Ron asked, grinning, before Harry interrupted him.

“Actually, you know what, I don’t think I want to know.”

Hermione chuckled and took a bite of her salad. _See, _she thought, _that wasn’t so bad, was it? _ Malfoy had come and gone, and there had been minimal bickering, no shouting and _absolutely_ no kissing. The way it should be. Now she was sitting and laughing with her friends like old times, and she could go back to dutifully avoiding him, and pretending that the _incident_ never happened.

***

It was nearly a month before she encountered him again. She had been bogged down for weeks finishing her work on the latest policy amendment before she started her stint at the Department of Mysteries. It hadn’t been an easy decision to make, and as it stood she would only be on temporary assignment there for six months, but it had been niggling at her recently, and she had been getting less and less satisfaction from her work. She had been feeling stifled and impotent, spending all day dotting I’s and crossing T’s, and never actually _accomplishing _ anything. Anyway, she found that she felt the urge to –how had he put it? Unravel the mysteries of the universe.

She was standing in the lift, preoccupied with a thousand mental checkboxes, when the doors had rattled open, and there he was, standing there like a ghost, his hair glowing silver in the cold light of the corridor beyond. She stood dumbly for a moment, before remembering herself and stepping aside to let him in.

“Malfoy,”

“Granger.”

They stood stock still, eyes facing forwards as the doors clanked closed. The space suddenly seemed far too small.

“I hear it’ll be ‘Unspeakable’ Granger soon,” he said, still looking forward.

“I don’t know about that, it’s only a temporary assignment.”

“From one basement to another, eh?”

She forced out a small laugh and absentmindedly fiddled with her hair.

“Something like that.”

“Mhmm,”

“Yeah,”

There was another silence. God, she hated this weird small talk, it just felt wrong somehow. She barely tolerated small talk from her colleagues, finding it frustrating to talk about nothing with people she barely knew, purely to satisfy some strange social function that no one could quite pin down, and coming from Malfoy of all people it just seemed… bizarre.

“You know, I have to liaise with the Department of Mysteries occasionally.” He said, keeping his eyes straight and his tone cool.

_And just what the hell did he mean by that? _She thought.

“Oh?” she said, taking care to keep her tone neutral.

“Could be just like old times,”

_Old times?!_ She exhaled sharply, feeling a warm coil of anger flare in her stomach. She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t, just ignore him. Don’t engage-

“Oh, sure,” she scoffed, “I’ll just turn you into a ferret every time you turn up, and let you scurry back down to your sad little cubicle. It’ll be downright nostalgic.”

Too late.

He chuckled darkly and folded his arms, leaning sideways against the wall of the lift.

“Well, if it’s going to be tit for tat, you couldn’t blame me for enlarging your teeth again, for old times’ sake, you understand.”

“Malfoy,” she growled, fists clenched at her sides.

The doors shuddered open again and a heavy set wizard in a bright turquoise waistcoat stepped in, followed by a small flock of paper aeroplane memos. He pressed the button and stood between Hermione and Malfoy, making her feel oddly uneasy, as if she had been caught doing something wrong. The air between them seemed thicker somehow, and she could _feel_ his gaze on the back of her head as she kept looking forward, mentally scolding herself for engaging with him in the first place. The other wizard disembarked a few floors later, and Hermione wondered how the headquarters of the British wizarding government could have such excruciatingly _slow_ lifts. 

“Look, Malfoy,” she forced out through gritted teeth, “I don’t know what ‘old times’ you’re thinking of, but I’m not in a hurry to repeat any of the ones I remember, so-”

“Ouch. You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said lightly.

“You sure?” he asked with a roguish grin. She gave him a scornful look, but internally her brain was working overtime not to get distracted by memories of his mouth on her neck, his soft groans as she gripped him ever tighter.

“Yes I’m sure.” The doors opened on her floor. _Finally_. “But even if I _did_ know what you’re talking about, Malfoy, it took a personal request from the Minister of Magic to get me in a room with you last time, and right now, spending time with you voluntarily seems about as attractive as mucking out blast-ended skrewts.”

She stepped smartly out of the lift towards her office, not looking back to see his reaction, but to her surprise, he called after her as the doors shut.

“Challenge accepted, Granger!”

She inhaled sharply and kept walking, her lip curling rebelliously as she tried not to smile. What had she got herself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I started writing this story I had intended it to be like 4 chapters of bickering followed by some fun, angry smut, and well, it seems to have got away from me.   
Anyway, I wanted to have it finished by the beginning of November, but that's probably not going to happen, so it looks like i'll have to put it on hiatus, which sucks, because i'm really enjoying writing it. I might still put out another chapter this week, but there'll likely be a big break before it's anywhere near finished, stick with me though, I 100% intend to finish this thing!


	10. Balance of Power

Hermione’s desk in the Department of Mysteries wasn’t as nice as her old one, nor was her office as spacious, but she’d barely had time to notice. When she had asked for a transfer they had warned her of the steep learning curve, and they hadn’t been exaggerating, she had been working almost non-stop since she had started, every free moment spent reading about the department, old cases and even a few classified files that she suddenly had clearance to read. It was fascinating, but in the back of her mind a small part of her worried that she would burn herself out. The worries were never particularly convincing though, since she doubted there was anything the Department of Mysteries could throw at her that would compare to her near mental breakdown as a result of using the time-turner in her third year at Hogwarts. She hardly remembered most of it, the second half of that year was just a blur of sleep deprivation and adrenaline.

The best part of it was that she hadn’t thought about Malfoy for weeks, she barely remembered to eat lunch every day, let alone sit and brood over a tryst (if you could even call it that) that happened months ago. She was spending her lunch-break reading a particularly intriguing treatise on the theoretical limits of apparition when she heard a sharp knock on her office door, which she had left open in the interest of not getting completely engrossed in a book and ending up staying at work until midnight like last time. Her head shot up. She was expecting her boss, about to chastise her for reading instead of working again, so she was genuinely shocked when she saw him standing there, after weeks of silence, leaning casually against the door frame and grinning like the cat that got the cream.

“Nose in a book as always, eh, Granger?”

“Malfoy,” she said, so astonished to find him there she forgot to inject the usual venom into her voice.

“The more things change, the more they stay the same, I suppose.”

“I-what are you doing here?”

“I had to debrief Wolfsson about a particularly dangerous cursed bracelet, evidently the Unspeakables want to study it before it’s destroyed,” he said, sounding bored. “Anyway, I thought I’d pop down the hall and see how the Ministry’s golden girl was coping being cooped up in this dungeon.”

“It’s not a dungeon.” She managed, her brain taking a frustratingly long time to gear up.

“Hmm, looks like a dungeon to me.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” she said distractedly, hurriedly packing away the papers she had been reading in her desk drawer. “What do you want?”

“Such pessimism, and you’re usually such a beacon of sunshine and hope,” He smirked and took a step into the office, “Who says I want anything from you?”

She gritted her teeth and tried to count to ten in her head to avoid simply telling him to fuck off.

“The sooner you tell me what you want, Malfoy, the sooner you can get out of my office and we can both get back to work.”

“Charming. Well, if you must know, I actually did come here just to see you.”

“Pull the other one,” she snorted, rolling her eyes.

“No, seriously,” he came further into the office and sat down in the chair opposite her desk without asking. She couldn’t help but notice that he was wearing the same tie that he had been wearing the …other time. Midnight blue silk with a barely visible paisley pattern.

“It’s rude to just invite yourself into someone else’s office, you know,” she snapped. He ignored her, and reclined luxuriantly in his seat as he looked around the office.

“Oh yes, I’m sure if it wasn’t for my _rudeness_ we’d be best friends.” He said sardonically.

“Well, I mean- exactly! So do you really expect me to believe you came here to see me?”

He sighed ruefully, looking suddenly tired and uncharacteristically ill at ease.

“Look, Granger, I get one of two reactions working here, cold indifference or outright hostility. We might not like each other but at least you treat me like I actually exist. I had to come down here for work anyway and I had a craving for actual human interaction. Sue me.”

Hermione was frankly a little bewildered. She certainly hadn’t expected him to be so- candid. He was slouched in the chair now, looking thoroughly grumpy at being forced to be honest with her, though she had no idea how he had actually expected this interaction to go. She cleared her throat awkwardly, fidgeting with her pen and not meeting his eyes.

“And what makes you think I’m not in the ‘outright hostility’ category?” she asked, keeping her tone light, “As I recall I did try to punch you. Twice.”

She immediately wished she hadn’t said it, because her mind was flooded with guilty, thrilling memories of the last time she had tried to punch him, a blur of rage, passion and sensation. His eyes seemed to twinkle with mischief, and now she _really_ wished she hadn’t said it.

“I’ll take my chances,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her with a small but very self-satisfied smile. She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to project the maximum amount of aggression to distract from the flush that she could feel rising on her cheeks.

“I swear to god, Malfoy, this better not be about… anything else.” She hissed, glancing quickly at the open door to make sure no one happened to be passing by,

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re referring to.” He said smoothly, but the corner of his lip twitched almost imperceptibly.

“Right. Good.” She muttered, entirely unconvinced, but much preferring feigned ignorance to actually discussing it.

“And even if I did-”

“Oh for- do you honestly have nothing better to do than sit around here being a twat?”

“Say no more, Granger,” he said, smiling and standing up, “I’ve no desire to get turned into a rodent again. We can continue this another time.”

“No, Malfoy, no other time-”

“Oh, come on, we didn’t even get around to insulting each other’s appearance,” he said, pouting, “For example, are you aware there are at least three pens stuck in your hair? Wait, I just spotted another one, make that four.”

She sucked in an angry breath and cursed her habit of sticking pens into her bun and forgetting about them. 

“If you come back here, Malfoy, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?”

His hands were on her desk and he was leaning down towards her, his voice low and velvety. Once upon a time this might have been a threatening move from him, but now all Hermione felt was aggravation, and the soft, shameful hum of arousal that had been lurking out of sight (mostly) for all these months.

She stood up slowly until she was face to face with him, privately very glad that no pens had clattered out of her hair as she rose.

“Get out of my office, Malfoy,” she whispered, “Or I will make you rue the day you decided to crawl out of that godforsaken manor.”

They stood face to face for a second, the air between them electric. Hermione had to forcefully remind herself that the door was wide open and that doing anything…drastic like last time was a truly terrible idea.

“There’s that vicious streak again,” he said, chuckling throatily. He straightened up, not entirely managing to conceal the raw intensity she saw in his eyes. “You know, I think it’s your best feature.”

“Just get out of here.” She sighed, sitting down again, both relieved and disappointed that the moment had passed.

“See you around, Granger,” he smirked, taking a step backwards from the desk.

“Leave, Malfoy. Now.”

He looked for a moment like he was going to argue, but apparently thought better of it, because he just smiled, gave a silly mock salute and turned on his heel, disappearing around the corner as quickly as he had appeared.

When she was sure he was out of earshot, she let out a frustrated huff of air. Merlin, he was infuriating, why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? It was if he _wanted_ to enrage her, which wouldn’t be so very out of character of him, except given what had happened last time she had lost her temper with him, she couldn’t believe that _that_ was what he wanted. But- well, he did say that it would be fun, didn’t he? What if he was _trying_ to- to-

Well, it didn’t matter if he was, because she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction… right? She wished she could say that she wouldn’t, but for some reason there was something about him that just obliterated her self-control. She certainly didn’t have the same rudeness filter with him that she did with other people whose opinions she actually cared about, but it was a mystery to her why that also meant that her hormones went into overdrive whenever she lost her temper with him. It was all very frustrating.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Absolutely not.

But… what if she just-

No, absolutely not.

***

A week later he turned up again, nearly crashing into her as she rushed out of her office on the way to a meeting. It was only by some miraculous feat of agility that she didn’t fall on her arse, and she clutched at the doorframe to steady herself.

“Jesus- where the hell did you come from?”

“The sixth floor?” he said smoothly, as she was the one asking a stupid question, “But if you’re asking about before that-”

“Oh, just shut up and get out of my way,”

“Quite eager today, aren’t you?”

“I’ve got a meeting, I- ugh, why am I even talking to you? Get out of my way.” She shoved him aside and pushed past. He called something after her, but she didn’t catch the words, only the smug, mocking tone.

She seethed about him the whole way to the meeting, muttering under her breath like a madwoman. Interns scattered in her wake, mumbling fearfully and scurrying back to their cubicles to take shelter until Hurricane Hermione had passed.

She half expected him to be waiting for her in her office when she got back, but it was blissfully empty. The meeting had been a disaster, she had been so irritable that she had been barely concentrating and snapped at her boss when he asked if she was ok. She had got away with it of course, and had apologised profusely, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that this had to stop. She didn’t know what perverse social function he thought she was satisfying, but she wasn’t doing it anymore. If he turned up again, she’d tell him to go find someone else to antagonise, or she’d make a formal complaint. Yes, he was still on probation after all, that should be enough of a threat to make him back off, he always did have a finely tuned sense of self-preservation after all.

She was resolved, and spent longer than she should have mentally drafting the speech she would give him, so she wouldn’t be left stammering and irate again, but she didn’t see him the next day though, or the next. A week passed, then two, and now she was starting to get annoyed. All that preparation was becoming less useful with every passing day, and there was little she hated more than wasted preparation. More than that though, she felt like Malfoy was a loose end, a confusing, exasperating loose end that she needed to resolve as soon as possible, lest she lose her mind completely.

It was past six by the time she decided to head home, and she was just writing a memo to a colleague about a case, when there was a knock at the door. She froze, her heart in her throat, then mentally scolded herself for being so utterly silly. It was probably just Wolfsson come to ask her about her progress, or some colleague with an errand to run, just like every other time. 

“Come in,” she called, scribbling down the last of her message and tapping the paper with her wand. The door clicked open as the paper folded itself into an aeroplane and flew up, whizzing towards the door and nearly taking Malfoy’s eye out as he stepped into the office. If she hadn’t been so shocked to see him she would have laughed.

“What the-” he managed, as he ducked quickly to avoid the paper plane. “You trying to kill me, Granger?”

“It’s a paper plane, not a bludger.” She said coldly. “What are you doing here anyway? It’s after six.”

“I know, I figured you probably wouldn’t have any meetings this late-”

_Well, _she thought, _no time like the present._

“Malfoy, sit down,” she sighed, gesturing to the other chair, “We need to talk.”

“I don’t like the sound of that…” he muttered, frowning as he shut the door behind him and sat down.

“I don’t care.”

“Ugh, do you have to be such a _bitch_ about everything?”

Hermione inhaled sharply, sucking on her teeth as she tried for the thousandth time not to lose her temper.

“That is _exactly _what we need to talk about. I don’t know what you feel you’re getting from these little- visits of yours, but all I’m getting from them is insulted and frankly, pretty pissed off. You can’t just turn up here, throw a few petty insults my way, disrupt my work day and then just bloody saunter off-”

“You _told _me to leave!” he said incredulously, but she held up a hand to silence him. This was _her _turf, and she was determined not to be sucked into his stupid games.

“Don’t be an idiot, Malfoy, the sauntering off isn’t the issue and you know it. Look, I don’t know what socialising looks like in your twisted little circle, but as far as I’m concerned, verbally abusing each other is not conducive to ‘actual human interaction’, or whatever the hell you called it.”

“My ‘twisted little circle’,” he spat, “Really? _That’s _how you’re going to refer to my family and friends? And you expect me to what, fall on my knees and beg forgiveness?”

“No,” she said, taking care to keep her tone measured and calm, “I’m just informing you that if you continue to turn up here just to insult me, I will file a formal complaint.”

“A formal complaint?” he said, sounding a little stunned.

“Yes, I’d rather not, but- what?”

He blinked at her, then sniggered, then _laughed_.

“Seriously, Granger? You’re going to file a _formal_ complaint, go to your boss, or my boss and say what? ‘_Ooh, Malfoy made fun of my hair, you should sack him’_?”

“I don’t know what you find so funny,” she said haughtily, masking how taken aback she was by his response. Internally she wondered if she really sounded that shrill. “You’re still on probation, right? I thought you’d care more about keeping your job.”

“Ohh, I’m shaking in my boots.” He rolled his eyes, and Hermione tried once again to take deep breaths, but this conversation was rapidly spiralling out of her control.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” she exclaimed, scowling and throwing her hands up in exasperation.

“Oh, plenty, I’m sure.” He chuckled, infuriatingly relaxed, “I’m surprised you asked, I would have thought you’d have quite a lot to say on the subject of what’s wrong with me, Merlin knows you’ve never held back before.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned.

“Look, what I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to do this anymore, whatever these weird little visits are, I don’t want it. So just- just find someone else to torment, because I don’t have the energy to deal with your bullshit.”

He sat back in the seat and gave her a penetrating look which lasted several seconds longer than was comfortable. She held his gaze stubbornly, noticing again the tiny flecks of darker grey in his pale eyes. She really wished she would stop noticing things like that.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly, not breaking eye contact.

“I- what?”

“Are you sure?” he repeated, enunciating each word as if she was hard of hearing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped, still somehow unable to tear her eyes away from his, “Of course I’m sure-”

“I ask because ‘my bullshit’ as you so-ah- eloquently put it, is really as much _your_ bullshit as mine- really it’s _our_ bullshit. I think it’s fair to say that you give as good as you get, so I don’t know why _I _should be the one getting the formal complaint, but I digress,” he said, his lip curling.

Hermione felt like a deer in the headlights, and she _hated _it. She wanted to grab her wand and blast this self-satisfied little shit across the room, shout at him that he was the one getting the complaint because it was always _him _that initiated this toxic little game of his, but she was stuck, paralysed, and it felt like her whole body was holding its breath.

“Anyway, I was asking if you were sure. Are you sure you don’t want me to keep coming down here, Granger?” he murmured, leaning over the desk so his tie fell down over her notepad. Bottle green today, with a rather ostentatious tie pin in the shape of what she assumed was the Malfoy family crest. She narrowed her eyes at him, but he just kept smiling that small, controlled smile that made her feel like he knew something she didn’t. He tilted his head as he spoke, his voice low and rough, “Sure you don’t want to keep insulting me, sniping at each other and riling each other until up you’re not sure whether you want to kill me or-”

The last of her self-control melted away, and suddenly she was a simple creature of instinct, of emotion and action. She reached out sharply and yanked his tie towards her, pulling him into a kiss that seemed to set every nerve in her body alight. She felt him groan against her lips, and smiled savagely.

“Shut the fuck up, Malfoy,” she growled, and pulled him back towards her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! God I've missed writing this story :)


	11. Once More With Feeling

The next thought that went through Hermione’s head was; _Not again…_

The thought disappeared very quickly however, when Malfoy slid his tongue past her lips as he braced his hands on her desk, leaning precariously over it, her hand still clasping his tie. She heard the crunch of paper as he clenched his fist around the top page of her notebook and smiled mischievously. Another Hermione, a far off, half-transparent Hermione was faintly glad that there weren’t any notes written there. He didn’t know that though, for all he knew he had just ruined her lovely, meticulous notes, the bastard.

She was vaguely aware of him standing up, the chair clunking over behind him as he manoeuvred awkwardly around the desk, kissing her the whole time with such enthusiasm that she thought she might drown in it, swept away on a tide of sensation. When he was finally standing in front of her, she rose up to meet him, threading her fingers through his hair before gripping it harshly as she claimed his mouth once again. He moaned roughly and she felt the scrape of his teeth over her bottom lip, teasing gently, so gently, even as she felt his fingers dig into her hips. She pushed him towards the desk, hearing her empty mug fall over and roll off the desk and onto the carpet with a muted thunk as his thighs hit the desk and she pushed herself against him, her hand leaving his hair to pull him back down to her by the back of the neck. His hands roved over her back as they kissed, it was as if he was trying to touch every inch of her at once, and it set her aflame.

This was wrong though… This _was _wrong, wasn’t it? Half an hour ago she had been entirely committed to sending him away, so he could take his stupid, half-flirty insults away with him and stop driving her crazy, so why now was she suddenly so distracted by his lips and his hands that she could barely string a thought together? This was a terrible idea, just like it had been the first time. They hated each other, didn’t respect each other, and sure as _hell_ didn’t love each other, and that made this whole thing twisted and bizarre, and she felt as if she was possessed and could do nothing but hold on for dear life.

She didn’t feel like _herself_. Hermione Granger didn’t take pleasure from insulting people, she didn’t fly off the handle over silly, snide comments about her hair, and she certainly didn’t fool around with old enemies in her office. Why then, was she doing exactly that? Pushing Malfoy against her desk at half six on a Tuesday and kissing him with such voracity that pieces of stationary kept falling off the desk. And more importantly, why did she not want to _stop_?

She rested her hand on the nape of his neck, allowing it to dip just slightly under his collar as she pulled away from the kiss to nibble her way down his neck, and she thought she felt him shiver slightly as her fingers brushed his neck. His skin was so warm that she almost wished that she could feel more of it, but she tamped down on that urge forcefully before her hormone addled brain could be allowed to run away with itself, and make this thing escalate past the point of no return. She stood on tiptoes to kiss and bite at his jaw, making him moan and shudder. Slowly, so slowly, he began to move his hands down from her hips, as if he was unsure whether it would break the spell somehow, but when he finally reached down to cup her arse and pull her closer, she let out an involuntary whimper as she felt his hardness against her. He let out a rough groan and moved one hand up to rest on the small of her back so that he could hold her body tight against his own. It was a strangely intimate position, and for a split second it wasn’t just that she didn’t feel like herself; he didn’t feel like _him_ either. And yet she _still_ couldn’t bring herself to stop.

She bit down hard on his neck to try to at least put a stop to the strange, almost tender moment, and he hissed sharply, burying his hand in her hair and pulling her slowly off his neck. His eyes were darkened when he spoke, and his voice grated slightly as if he had forgotten how to speak.

“That’s not very fair, now is it? I don’t have this great big bushy mane to cover up_ your_ lovebites.” He tightened his fist in her hair ever so slightly as he spoke, making her narrow her eyes at him and igniting a little more of the latent annoyance that always bubbled under the surface when she was around him. But she’d be lying if she said it hadn’t ignited some of the arousal too. She pulled away a fraction and he let go of her hair without resistance.

“Oh, are we worrying about what’s fair now?” she hummed, distantly horrified at how low and sultry her voice sounded, “How very out of character of you.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” he murmured, leaning down so that his lips brushed her jaw, “I’ll have you know I can be extraordinarily sporting.”

“Yeah right, I’ve seen you play quidditch.”

“And were you impressed?” he purred, his breath stirring the hair behind her ear, and she snorted derisively, in part to distract herself from how good his lips felt brushing the sensitive skin of her neck.

“Not even a little.”

“There’s that vicious streak again, I- Granger, why aren’t you wearing shoes?” he asked suddenly, staring down at her feet perplexedly. She flushed and pulled away from him, wishing that she hadn’t worn her stupid, fuzzy, star-patterned slipper-socks that Molly had knitted her a few years ago.

“I- I take my shoes off sometimes when I’m just sitting at my desk doing research.” She stammered, folding her arms stubbornly. “Why do you care?”

“I mean- I don’t, I was just surprised-”

“Then shut up.” She snapped, feeling that familiar combination of disappointment and relief as the mood veered sharply away from the sultry frenzy of just a few moments ago. She stepped away from him a little shakily and began picking up the small amount of clutter that had accumulated on the floor around her desk as a result of their activities.

Ugh, how could this happen again? _Again?_ She must be mad. That or she had unknowingly got trapped in some sort of weird, hideous parallel dimension where this sort of thing was normal for her. She was vaguely aware of Malfoy bending down to look under the desk where her shoes still sat, forgotten in the flurry of activity earlier. He snickered and half-sat on the desk, regarding her with amusement, though the fire hadn’t quite left his eyes from earlier.

“Do you wear those socks with those heels?” he asked, smirking.

“No, don’t be stupid. It’s just cold in here.” She said, trying to focus on putting everything back in its rightful place, rather than how much warmer it would be if she was still pressed up against him, “I didn’t have any meetings or anything left today, and- Ugh, why are we still talking about this? Shut up, Malfoy, I don’t come down to your sad little cubicle and make fun of your work habits.”

“Fine, fine,” he drawled, holding his hands up in surrender, but still looking highly amused and far too comfortable for Hermione’s liking. 

They were quiet for a few minutes while Hermione straightened her office back up, and when she was finished, she was almost surprised that he was still there. She folded her arms and scowled at him.

“You’re really happy not helping at all, just sitting there and watching me tidy up?” she asked irritably.

“Well, it’s your office,”

“Oh please, this mess is as much your fault as mine and you know it.”

“So you admit it’s partly your fault?”

“Oh, shut up.” Suddenly she felt very tired, and she dropped down into her office chair, screwing up her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just go home, Malfoy.”

“Are you-”

“Yes, I’m fucking sure, Malfoy. Leave.” 

He chuckled and straightened his tie, leaning down to speak.

“Until next time, Granger,” he murmured, finally turning to leave.

She wanted to say there wouldn’t be a next time, she wanted to insult him, tell him to just fuck off and never to darken her doorway again. She wanted to tell him to expect her formal complaint, but she didn’t. She just sighed heavily and started packing her things into her bag so she could go home and try to mentally unpack this new development.

“Whatever, Malfoy,” she said, shrugging exasperatedly, but she couldn’t help a small smile from tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Night, Granger,” he said, flashing her a tiny smirk before he disappeared out into the corridor.

***

Draco was thoroughly annoyed at himself. Why did he have to mention the damn socks? Why couldn’t he have just kept the thought to himself and let them continue? But no, he had to blurt out the question like a moron in the middle of his otherwise perfectly executed seduction and completely kill the mood. He stalked back to the floo in a haze of annoyance before he remembered he had left all of his things back in his cubicle. Huffing irritably, he turned sharply on his heel and headed back.

He had just been so _surprised_. She had been wearing a surprisingly well tailored black shift dress that flattered her figure immensely, her hair loose and falling wildly around her shoulders, not a single pen stuck in it. She had looked - well, almost chic, which was not a word he had ever associated with Hermione Granger. So when he had looked down after what had to be one of the most intense make-out sessions of his life to see her wearing those weird, fluffy socks, bright blue with yellow stars over her sheer black tights, his brain had simply short circuited. Then he didn’t manage to stop himself from just abruptly questioning her choice of footwear mid-sentence. Mid-flirt in fact. He usually had more self-control than that, he would be long dead if he had always just blurted out whatever stupid thing was on his mind, but there was something about her that still unbalanced him. Something about her not being a known quantity anymore that rankled him and put him off his game – what little game he had left these days anyway.

Still, he hadn’t failed to notice that she hadn’t corrected him when he had said next time. Maybe he wasn’t quite so incompetent after all, maybe he was still in with a chance to continue this- whatever this was. God, he hoped so. Part of him worried that her constant admonitions and insults were indicative of her genuinely not wanting to continue, but he wasn’t sure if anyone could force Hermione Granger to do a damn thing if she didn’t want to do it. She’d had ample opportunity to stop him too, and Merlin knew she had the ability, so he had to conclude that on some level she did want this, no matter how much she hated that fact. Yes, she had made it very clear that he wasn’t welcome when he had first visited her office, but he had been truthful when he told her that he had only wanted human interaction, even if it just consisted of them sniping at each other from opposite ends of the office.

His first few months at the Ministry hadn’t been easy. He could do the work in his sleep, of course, but he couldn’t ignore the hushed, vitriolic whispers as he passed, the stares and the often entirely unconcealed hatred that followed him around the place like a dark cloud. The worst part was that he knew that his father’s legacy still hung heavy over him. Lucius Malfoy had been an imposing presence in the Ministry for years before the war, and while Draco was doing his best to be different, he wasn’t sure if he was actually any better. Those who had to interact with him did so with a begrudging, icy politeness, and those who didn’t simply acted as if he was invisible. Oh, there were a few who were overtly hostile, almost flippant in their hatred of him, Potter and Weasley the most notable among them, but even they had calmed down a little as time went on. Draco suspected that there had been one or two choice words from Minister Shacklebolt on his behalf over these months, and while he did appreciate the thought, the less he thought about it the better. His self-esteem was hanging by a thread as it was, and he didn’t need to dwell on the fact that the Minister for Magic was essentially having to act like an exasperated teacher having to wrangle a bunch of toddlers into playing nice, all for his benefit. The irony of this was not lost on him either, especially given how many times he himself had been reprimanded by various teachers for bullying at Hogwarts. 

He reached his cubicle and gathered up his things, now utterly sullen. Actually he rather wished Shacklebolt wouldn’t intervene. He’d rather just suffer in silence knowing that it was only what he himself had happily inflicted on others, than endure the forced, almost spiteful politeness. Granger though, she didn’t quite fit into either category. There was something so forthright and well, obvious about her. She wasn’t exactly an open book, but she never bothered to hide her feelings about him, and that frankness was a breath of fresh air in this cold, dry office full of false civility. Not that he wished everyone would just glower and pick fights with him like Potter did, but Granger’s dry condescension and obvious irritation was the closest thing he had to a happy medium right now. And well, it didn’t hurt that he found that riling her up was… exhilarating.

He hadn’t really intended to start anything, not consciously anyway. When he had first visited her new office in the Department of Mysteries, he had only gone there for a bit of conversation, admittedly very antagonistic conversation, but actual conversation nonetheless. More so than most of his social interactions anyway. It wasn’t until she had started spouting that nonsense about a formal complaint that he had really decided to go all in. To his mind, if she actually hated him so much that she literally never wanted to see him again, then he really did have nothing to lose by being a little scandalous. Worst case scenario she’d get really angry –not the sexy kind either- and just kick him out on his arse. His reputation was already in tatters, after all, what was a bit more notoriety to villains like him?

She might still make the complaint, but something told him that she wouldn’t, because either she was a far better actor than he gave her credit for, or she had enjoyed this latest episode as much as he had. And if that were the case, she’d be mad not to want to pick back up where they left off.

God, he wished he hadn’t noticed those damn socks.


	12. Evolution

Days passed, and to Hermione’s annoyance, her concentration was markedly weaker since Malfoy had turned up the other day. It wasn’t an isolated incident anymore, and the idea scared her. The more she thought about it, the more she started to wonder if it might be best just to get it out of their systems, then they could go back to barely acknowledging each other’s existence. This line of thought usually led to her mentally scolding herself first for spending time thinking about him at all, and then for even _considering_ such an absurd idea. It was one thing to make out a couple of times as a result of what could only be described as an annoyance high, but it was quite another to actually sleep with someone whom she hated right down to her bones. She had slept with someone she didn’t love before, but this felt like it would be crossing a line somehow.

Occasionally though, she did wonder about how much she really did hate him. He infuriated her, sure, but at some point in the last several months she had passed from utter loathing to low-key irritation, maybe even begrudging tolerance. He had become less of the tainted, bitter spectre from her past that she had seen him as before, and more of a mild annoyance who had a unique ability to push her buttons. Still, he wasn’t exactly easy to get along with, and now he had settled in a bit and was evidently feeling more secure in his place at the Ministry, he was rapidly acquiring a reputation for having one of the most vicious tempers in his department. From what she had heard though, he tended to be very forthright (and usually rather cutting) if he had a problem, a far cry from his father’s legacy of shadowy manipulation and underhanded deals.

He wasn’t his father, that was for sure, but he wasn’t the same spiteful bully he had been at Hogwarts either. If she was honest, Hermione didn’t really know what to make of him, which might not have bothered her at all, if it wasn’t for the fact that she apparently simply couldn’t help herself around him. On two separate occasions now; the time at the café wasn’t an outlier anymore, now it was a trend, and that disturbed her deeply.

She was sitting in the pub with Ginny on Friday night, nursing a glass of wine and only half listening to Ginny’s play-by-play description of her last match, when she finally spoke up.

“Ginny, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure-”

“But you can’t ask me loads of follow-up questions, ok?”

“Well, that’s no fun-”

“Please?”

“Oh fine. Shoot.” Hermione took a deep breath.

“Have you ever slept with someone just to get it out of your systems?”

“I-Wow, Hermione, that is _really _not what I was expecting-”

“Oh god, just forget I asked, I don’t know what I was thinking…”

“No, it’s fine!”

“Forget it…”

“I’m probably not the best person to ask, I’ve been with Harry pretty much my entire adult life-”

“Please, just drop it.”

“Anyway, I don’t think it really works like that, having sex doesn’t just magically get rid of feelings, quite the opposite, usually-”

“Oh god, just kill me….”

“Unless the sex was really terrible, I suppose…”

“I’m begging you, Ginny, please just forget I said anything.” 

“Forget it? As if. You started this. Anyway, the real question here is _who_ you’re trying to get out of your system, I’m intrigued. Is it someone from work? Ooh, is it an Unspeakable?”

“No questions, you promised.” Said Hermione desperately, wishing the earth would swallow her up.

“Boo. I bet it is an Unspeakable, tall, dark and mysterious, right?” Ginny waggled her eyebrows.

“I- something like that…” she said, deciding that denying it would only lead Ginny closer to the terrible truth. “Oh, look, the boys are here!”

Hermione mentally thanked whatever deities happened to be looking down on her at that moment and enthusiastically waved Harry and Ron over to their table. She hoped she had dodged a bullet, but the look on Ginny’s face told her that this wasn’t over.

They stumbled out of the floo into their flat several hours later, and the very moment that they were both out of the fireplace, Ginny cornered her, a little unsteadily.

“Right, Granger. Dish.”

“What?”

“You know what, who’re you trying to screw out of your system?”

“You’re drunk, Ginny.” She said affectionately, smiling at how much Ginny was slurring her words.

“So what? So’re you.”

“I’m really not, you know,”

“Oh come ooon, you know you want to tell me!”

The worst part was that she really did. While she was sure that confessing the truth would not go down well, she was getting so twisted and turned around going over and over everything in her own mind, it might do her good to get some of it off her chest. She half-carried Ginny over to the sofa, where they fell down clumsily. Hermione let her head fall back, closing her eyes and sighing heavily.

“I don’t know, Gin,” she murmured after a few minutes, “I’m so sure that doing anything with him is just an awful idea, but every time we start bickering, I just get more and more wound up and then suddenly it’s not anger, it’s – ugh, and I just want to-”

She was interrupted by a foundation-shaking snore from Ginny.

“Ginny?”

More snoring.

Hermione shook her head and smiled, feeling a rush of affection for the youngest Weasley. She pulled the blanket over Ginny’s sleeping form and got up to go to bed, feeling oddly like she had missed her chance for coming clean. She stopped at her bedroom door and turned around to the living room, where she could still hear Ginny snoring.

“Hey Ginny?” she whispered. No response. “I think I want to have sex with Malfoy.”

And just like that, it was out. Ginny was still fast asleep, but saying it out loud suddenly made it terrifyingly real for Hermione, and she knew that denial wasn’t an option any more.

***

The next day Hermione watched in amusement as a decidedly worse for wear Ginny staggered into the kitchen around midday to down a pint of water without even acknowledging her.

“Morning, sunshine,” she said brightly, and Ginny responded by giving her a filthy look.

“Ugh, I’m never drinking again.”

“Uhuh, sure.”

“Fine. I’m not drinking again any time soon.” She mumbled, sitting down heavily at the table, “Is that tea?”

“Yeah,” Hermione nodded poured Ginny a large cup from the teapot.

“Thanks,” she sighed, closing her eyes reverentially as she cradled the cup in her hands as if it were the holy grail. “At least I remember everything, thanks for tucking me in, by the way.”

“No problem, I’m surprised you remember that, you were barely conscious.”

“Don’t remind me, it’s all extremely embarrassing. Plus I had the craziest dreams,”

“Oh?”

“Oh my god, yeah, like in one of them you were sleeping with _Malfoy_! It was bizarre.”

Hermione froze, her teacup halfway to her lips. She remembered her whispered confession to a half-comatose Ginny, who now seemed to have heard it after all, at least on some unconscious level. She forced out a short laugh and tried her best to look gobsmacked.

“What?” Hermione squeaked.

“I know! Talk about a nightmare.”

“Hah. Yeah.”

“You know, I think it was because we were talking about that guy in your department with all the sexual tension, and my drunk brain made it weird.”

“Yeah, so weird.”

“So what about that guy?”

“Oh come on, Ginny, let it go. Please, for the sake of my sanity.”

“Oh no, you’re not getting off that easy,”

“Ginny,” she said sternly, “You promised, remember? No follow up questions.”

“Fine, consider it dropped. For now. But I know you, Hermione, and there’s only so long you can go without spilling the beans, especially if you _work_ with him.”

Hermione sighed and felt her shoulders slump in defeat. Ginny was right, this whole thing was slowly driving her crazy, but it was too inflammatory to just blurt out and gab about as if it was just some random guy. No, she had to be careful about this, with Ginny _and_ with him.

“I- ok. I’ll talk about it when I’m ready.” She sighed, “I’ll talk about it when I know what _it_ is.”

Ginny let out a low whistle.

“You sure? I’ve not seen you twisted up about a guy like this since the whole Ron/Lavender debacle-”

“Yes I’m sure! Ugh, why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Alright, calm down, just offering a sympathetic ear. Also keep your voice down, my head feels like it’s full of doxies.” 

Hermione nodded distractedly and sipped her tea. Now she had acknowledged it to Ginny, even if she hadn’t told the whole truth yet, it felt like a big step, but contrary to her expectations of endless angst and torment, she actually felt more comfortable. If it had been anyone else, this wouldn’t surprise her at all, she always felt better about a problem after talking about it, but the fact that she was feeling _comfortable_ about starting some sort of-of- thing- with Draco fucking Malfoy was the best evidence she could imagine for her slow slide into insanity.

Maybe she should just grow up. She was an adult after all, they were both adults, and they were a long way from Hogwarts, in both space and time. Was it really so insane for two adults who didn’t used to get along to have a brief affair until they just burnt themselves out? She couldn’t imagine that even if it did happen, it would be anything more than a flash in the pan, a fleeting indulgence of what was obviously some fairly potent chemistry. It wasn’t so insane in isolation, but as soon as she thought about the fact that it would be _Draco Malfoy_, she was overcome with a feeling close to panic, laced with a little revulsion and yes, a measure of guilty exhilaration.

She couldn’t believe she was considering this. She was shocked and a little ashamed of herself, but she couldn’t help but think back to their last meeting, the feeling of him holding her tight, his hands roving over her back, her arse, all while he kissed her senseless. Then she started to think forward, wondering what it would be like to finally let loose with him completely, finally being able to just tear each other’s clothes off and-

“Hermione? You alright there?”

Hermione shook her head distractedly and blinked rapidly, as if this would somehow erase the filthy images her mind had supplied all too easily.

“I- yes, I’m fine.” She stuttered, feeling blood rush to her cheeks.

“Uhuh, sure.” Said Ginny, sounding unconvinced, “You were a million miles away,”

“I suppose I was.” She conceded, “What were you saying?”

“You were thinking about him weren’t you?” asked Ginny, a wide grin spreading across her face as understanding dawned.

“No!” exclaimed Hermione, too quickly.

“Yeah, sure,” laughed Ginny, “Hermione Granger, you dirty lech, you.”

“What?! No, that’s not-”

“Alright, alright, don’t spill your tea. I said I wouldn’t pry and I won’t, but seriously, Hermione, you’ve got to resolve this one way or the other, because I think you may literally explode otherwise.”

“You might be right,” she muttered, hating her life a bit right now.

“Of course I’m right,” said Ginny matter-of-factly, taking a victory sip.

***

Hermione would later wonder how on earth she ever got away with keeping the fact that it was Malfoy she was thinking about from Ginny. She was usually disturbingly perceptive in that regard, and Hermione was very glad that she Ginny didn’t work at the Ministry, as she was positive she’d figure it out in a second if she spent all day in the same building as them. The weekend passed uneventfully without a single mention of Malfoy, and why wouldn’t it? Harry and Ron hadn’t had a run in with him for weeks, and he was hardly enough of a problem anymore that he would naturally come up in conversation, at least, for all her friends knew. For her part, Hermione managed not to obsess too much over it, reasonably happy to put the issue firmly in the ‘weekday problems’ slot in her brain, but as Monday dawned, she awoke with a knot of anxiety in her stomach.

She didn’t know why she was worrying so much, they typically went weeks without running into each other. Statistically, she probably wouldn’t see him again for another fortnight, and then it would be another month of stupid bickering and thinly veiled flirting before…. Before what? What was she expecting? She didn’t have an answer to that question, which irked her. This uncertainty was making her skittish and irritable, and she was sure it was affecting her work, though no one had mentioned anything.

At some point over the weekend the Ministry had been decorated for Christmas, enormous garlands and floating lanterns brightening up the usually cold and cavernous atrium, as well as what looked like a full size pine tree where once stood a large statue, every inch of it covered in beautiful magical baubles and ornaments. She supposed house elves had done it, and felt a familiar stab of annoyance at the injustice of it all. Maybe one day she would go back to Magical Policy after all.

She was so wrapped up in thoughts of house elf rights and Christmas shopping that she didn’t notice a familiar figure approach her from the other side of the atrium and smoothly fall into step beside her. She gave a small start when she noticed him there, and she scowled at him, feeling strangely exposed out here in the crowded atrium. She had to tell herself firmly that there was nothing strange at all to the outside observer about them walking towards the lifts together. Not even together, just sort of next to each other. Not strange at all.

“Fancy seeing you here, Granger,” said Malfoy, his lip curling.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re quite astonished to see me here, in my place of work.” She said sarcastically, wishing her heart would stop beating so fast.

“Charming as ever,” he said, his grin widening. “Did you have a good weekend?”

“What?”

“Did you have a good weekend, Granger?” he repeated as they reached the lifts.

“I- yes, it was fine.” She said dazedly, feeling suddenly ill-equipped for small-talk. “Um, and how was yours?”

“What- oh, yes, it was fine. Boring.” He said after a small pause. He sounded stilted, as if he wasn’t actually expecting her to return the question.

“Um, good,”

“Yeah.”

They stood in silence for what felt like an hour, until Hermione realised in horror that neither of them had pushed the button to call the lift. They both surged forwards at the same time, bumping into each other as they went for the button. He stepped back graciously as she pressed the button. The longer they waited, the more Hermione fidgeted. What could possibly be taking so long? And where were the bustling crowds that had enveloped them a few minutes ago? The corridor where the lifts were located was just off the main atrium, and yet somehow it was still just the two of them. The lift rattled open, and he gestured for her to go ahead.

“No socks today?” he asked once the doors had shut again.

She looked quickly down at her feet, then shot him a sideways glance.

“Well they proved so distracting, I thought they might be a bit too much for work,” she said lightly, keeping her eyes forward as a smile tugged at her lip. He barked out a short, shocked laugh, and she was vaguely aware of him shifting ever so slightly to move closer to her.

“Deeply unprofessional, Granger,” he husked, clicking his tongue, “I’m shocked.”

The lift shuddered to a stop on the sixth floor, and Malfoy lingered for a moment before stepping out, as if he was about to say something, but in the end he just nodded to her, looking pensive, and headed off down the corridor, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. As the lift doors shut again, Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding.

Well. If she had any doubt before, it was now well and truly banished.

She didn’t know what this was, but she knew she wanted it.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels a bit like filler, but I feel like it had to happen. Stay tuned for (more) wildly inappropriate workplace flirting!


	13. After Hours

Over the next week, Malfoy was incorrigible. She didn’t know how he was managing it, but he seemed to catch her alone far more than was statistically probable, and every time he made the most of it by flirting as much as humanly possible. He still wasn’t _nice_, but then, neither was she. Their constant bickering and sniping (which pretty much what passed for flirting between them) had escalated to the point that it was becoming a genuine problem for her productivity. She was distracted most days, and her frequent run-ins with Malfoy were incredibly disruptive, even if she was having more fun at work these days than she had had in years. She was still holding her own of course, she doubted any of her actual bosses or colleagues had concerns about her work, but_ she_ knew she wasn’t giving her usual 200%. If Ginny had noticed any change in her, she had been blissfully silent about it, though Hermione was genuinely beginning to worry about how long she could keep this up.

Today was Friday, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about having to endure another weekend of desperately trying not to let slip to Ginny some detail that would give it away. While she had more or less come to terms with the fact that she was attracted to him (though the thought still felt bizarre) she definitely wasn’t ready to face the full scrutiny of her friends about it. She looked up at the clock and realised that once again she had lost track of time and it was long past the end of the work day. Thankfully Ginny and Harry were busy tonight so she hadn’t missed any plans, but her stomach growled grumpily, as if it had forgotten about its hunger until she realised the time.

She hadn’t seen Malfoy at all today, apart from this morning for a split second as she crossed the atrium, which was probably best, because she had actually managed to have an extremely productive day. There was a new project researching magic involved with the transfer of thought and consciousness into physical objects, like penseives or on a darker note, horcruxes. Given her unique experience with the latter, Hermione was well qualified to contribute to the project, so her workload had multiplied over the last few days. Very bad timing, but she had managed to keep up despite the constant distractions. She stretched hugely in her chair, hearing multiple loud but extremely satisfying cracks from her shoulders after being hunched over the desk all day. There was a light tapping on her door, and she sat up straight abruptly. Who was still here this late on a Friday? She had a sneaking suspicion.

“Come in,” she called.

The door swung open to reveal, not Malfoy, as she had half-expected, but a solitary paper-plane memo, which swooped in and landed neatly in front of her on the desk. She was on the fence about whether to open it. It was so late already and she was sure that if it turned out to be some new errand or task she would just want to get it done before the weekend. No, better just to leave it and deal with it on Monday, no one could actually expect her to respond to a memo sent at nearly 7pm on Friday evening. She dragged her bag towards her and started packing up her stuff, but the memo still sat there tantalisingly, daring her to read it.

She huffed exasperatedly and gave in. She wouldn’t stay here any later, but she couldn’t just leave it there unread all weekend, could she? She tapped it with her wand, and it unfolded sleekly to reveal and short note in Malfoy’s unmistakably ostentatious handwriting. Her stomach swooped giddily, and she immediately chastised herself for having such a silly reaction before she’d even read the damn thing.

_Granger,_

_If you’re still here this late, your life is even sadder than I thought, but given your general air of stifling fastidiousness I thought I’d check just in case. I got stuck working late through a particularly complicated curse on a pair of knitting needles, of all things, and it looks like I’ve got the place to myself._

_Care to join me?_

He hadn’t signed it, but it could only be him. The smugness practically oozed out of the parchment. Nonetheless, she found herself smiling, feeling giddy and shamefully excited in a way she hadn’t felt since she was a teenager. She packed up her things and tapped the note with her wand, watching in satisfaction as it crumpled and burnt to a crisp, then she left, locking her office door behind her as she made her way to the lifts.

Hermione had never actually been to the Cursed Objects Department, she’d never needed to, but she found it was much the same as Magical Policy and most other departments in the Ministry. It was a huge room, with rows of wood panelled cubicles stretching off all the way to the far wall, the nicer offices tucked away to the side with their own little reception area for the higher ups. It was also completely and utterly deserted. It was eerie, and Hermione began to feel stupid and embarrassed, what was she thinking, turning up here after one stupid note? How did she even know he wasn’t messing with her? It would hardly be out of character. She took a step backwards, intending to just retreat back to the atrium and get back home and pretend this had never happened, but before she could escape, a familiar blonde head popped out from a cubicle a little way up the aisle. Hermione froze like a deer in the headlights, while a smirk spread across Malfoy’s face and he stood up and leant nonchalantly against the wall of his cubicle.

“Evening, Granger,” he drawled, his voice seeming small in the huge, empty room, “I take it you got my note?”

“No, I just thought I’d take a Friday night tour of the different departments. Yes I got your note.” She said tersely, but she was unable to suppress a small smile as she rolled her eyes.

He looked more casual than she had seen him, having presumably shed his robes and tie hours ago, and she was unexpectedly struck by how _normal_ he looked standing there in his shirt-sleeves with his top button undone. She suddenly saw him without the veil of personal opinion and shared history, and she saw just another tired office worker, stuck working late on a Friday night and trying to make the best of it, just like everyone else. He jerked his head towards his cubicle, indicating for her to follow as he sat back down. Hermione walked down the aisle as if she was in a trance, and when she finally reached him she took a moment to take in the sight of his desk. It was surprisingly messy, strewn with parchment and books and other miscellaneous clutter, he leant back in his chair as his quill scratched away at the bottom of what looked like a very detailed report, presumably about the cursed knitting needles.

“Sorry, give me a minute, if I don’t get this down now I’ll lose my train of thought,” he muttered.

“Take your time,” she said vaguely, her brain busy fixating on strange little details that she saw around his cubicle. His tie was thrown haphazardly to the side of his desk, next to a set of silver cufflinks that probably were worth more than her whole flat somehow, yet they were discarded too, looking oddly incongruous next to a chipped purple mug half-full of what was probably stone cold tea. There weren’t any personal details though, no photos or ornaments like most people had to decorate their workspaces. Even Hermione, who preferred to keep her desk neat and uncluttered when she wasn’t using it, had a framed photo from just before Bill’s wedding of the three of them, before all the madness and horror had really begun, a reminder of simpler times. She wondered if he just preferred not to advertise his past to anyone who visited, or maybe such sentimentality was considered crass in the aristocratic pure-blood community.

“And-ok, done,” he said after a few minutes of silence except for the scratch of his quill. He turned in his chair to face her and made a show of looking her up and down, reclining lazily and looking smug.

“Are you sure everyone’s gone, Malfoy?” she asked, looking quickly over her shoulder and feeling suddenly self-conscious.

“Pretty sure,” he shrugged, his smirk widening.

“Ugh, you are a nightmare,” she said, horrified at the possibility of getting caught, “How can you- I’m going home.”

“Ah, ah, calm down Granger,” he said quickly, standing up and grabbing her arm before she could make her escape, “Everyone’s gone, I’m sure.”

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously and jerked her arm out of his grip, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

“And why should I-”

“Oh for- _you’re_ the nightmare.” He said, throwing his hands up in mock annoyance, “_There’s no one left in the office!_” he shouted the last part, cupping his hands around his mouth for dramatic effect and gesturing pointedly at the silence that followed.

“Fine.” She said after a moment’s pause. She dropped her bag on the floor and he smiled.

He stood up but didn’t move towards her, just stood there, arms crossed and the tiniest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. She held his gaze, stubbornly refusing to move first.

“So,” he said, still not moving.

“So what?”

“So, shall I make a comment about those hideous shoes or should we just skip straight to it?”

“Grasping at straws a little, aren’t you?” she said, feeling a familiar swirl of anger in her gut, “I thought you were better than making fun of my wardrobe. Ten out of ten for impersonating a bitchy teenage girl though.”

He scowled at her and she grinned smugly. Then, as if they suddenly understood one another, they simultaneously lunged at each other, crashing together in a storm of tongues and teeth. Their teeth clacked together slightly as their lips met again and again, fierce and messy in their urgency.

He pushed into her mouth with his tongue, holding her firmly to him with his hand buried in her hair. She moaned softly and allowed herself to give in for once, her hand clawing at the back of his shirt as he walked her backwards until her back banged against the wall. She didn’t care though. Trapped between the hard wooden partition and his body, she could do nothing but simply experience _this_. He moved his hand from her hair to tilt her jaw upwards so he could deepen the kiss, using his other hand to push her jacket off her shoulder. She shuffled slightly to free herself from the jacket, and it fell away, hanging lamely from her wrist where she still clung to the back of his shirt. She didn’t even notice the soft thump of the jacket falling to the floor when she finally moved her hand from his back to tangle in his hair, relishing the smooth, silky feel of it, so different from her own wild curls.

Somewhere at the back of her mind she knew this was stupid, knew that it was unprofessional and wildly irresponsible, but at this moment she simply didn’t care. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it free from his waistband and snaking her hand underneath to finally touch his heated skin, and she felt him shudder in response, moving his hand from her hair to push up her jumper. She huffed in frustration as she wriggled away from the kiss to pull the jumper over her head, no easy task with him still pinning her to the wall with his weight and assaulting every inch of her that he had access to with little nips and kisses. The jumper crumpled on top of the discarded jacket, and Hermione linked her arms around Malfoy’s neck, pulling him back down to her.

When their lips met again, it wasn’t violent as before, but slow and determined. Tongues teasing at each other as he took advantage of her sleeveless dress to run his hands all the way down her arms from her wrists to her shoulders, apparently just for the sheer pleasure of feeling her bare skin under his fingers. She felt him smile against her mouth, and distantly she wondered if it was a triumphant smirk or a genuine expression of pleasure. She wasn’t sure which one she wanted it to be, but she knew she didn’t want him to stop.

He ran his hands back up towards her wrists, but as his fingers brushed her forearm he froze, and she felt his whole body tense as he stiffly pulled back a fraction. For a moment, she was bewildered as to why he had suddenly stopped, but as her senses slowly returned, she realised his hand was still frozen over her left forearm, where the word ‘mudblood’ was still just about visible, spelled out in rough scar tissue. Suddenly she was mortified. She hadn’t bothered to glamour it today, since she had been wearing that big jumper all day over her dress, but she hadn’t planned for _this_.

She wasn’t ashamed of it, and she had long since come to terms with the scar. She remembered wearing it like a badge of honour soon after it had happened, ‘mudblood and proud’, she had said, but in this particular moment it was just another painful reminder of their shared past. He stepped back from her, hurriedly tucking his shirt back into his trousers and shuffling down his sleeves. It wasn’t until his sleeves were fully down, and he had clamped one hand over his other forearm, that she realised what he was doing.

She hadn’t noticed the dark mark earlier when his sleeves were still rolled up, maybe he concealed it magically too, but she couldn’t say how she would have reacted upon seeing it. Perhaps she would have completely freaked out, or maybe she would have frozen up, like he had, but one thing was for sure; the mood had well and truly shifted.

Hermione wished she had her jumper back, but didn’t want to hastily bend down and grab it, as if she were hiding behind it, as if she were ashamed. The only reason she usually hid the scar was that it tended to invite awkward questions and uncomfortable silences with people other than her inner circle. It hadn’t even occurred to her how he might react- maybe it should have.

He still hadn’t moved, and was standing a few feet in front of her, looking resolutely at his shoes. She cleared her throat awkwardly.

“I- um…”

“I should go.” He said shortly, not meeting her eyes.

“Wait, Malfoy, don’t-” she began, but he had already grabbed his robes from the back of his chair as if he were in a trance.

“I should- I should go.” He repeated, taking another step backwards from her.

“Malfoy, wait.” She said, grabbing his arm firmly, “Let’s- oh god, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we need to talk.”

“I-don’t think you want that.” he muttered darkly.

“If you think I’m just going to go home and stew for the whole weekend, you’ve got another thing coming.” She said angrily, glaring at him, “You invited _me_ here, Malfoy.”

“You really can’t just leave it alone, can you?” he snarled.

“No.” she said shortly, standing her ground and not moving her hand from his arm.

“Fine.”

He grabbed her shoulder roughly, and before she could say anything, she felt a sharp tug behind her navel, and they apparated away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. This wasn't going to be angsty, but I felt it was unavoidable. Damn shame because I was really enjoying writing that makeout sesh :p


	14. Critical Comprehension

Hermione stumbled as they reappeared. She was angry. She’d only been side-along apparated without her consent once, when Ron had attempted a surprise trip on one of their anniversaries. She’d been livid then too, though it had turned out to be a surprisingly nice holiday despite the inauspicious start. But Malfoy wasn’t Ron. She had been in love with Ron, and ultimately he’d been doing something nice for her, not just yanking her along to- where even were they?

She looked around, her anger fading behind her curiosity for a moment. They were in a richly furnished, high ceilinged sitting room, with a huge fireplace and floor to ceiling windows which were draped in heavy, dark green curtains. Was this his house? It wasn’t the Manor, she’d- well, she’d _know _if it was the Manor. She was vaguely aware of him stepping away from her without a word, crossing the room and dropping down heavily into an expensive looking leather armchair. She stood awkwardly where they had appeared, watching as Malfoy lit the fire with his wand and sat back tiredly in his chair, closing his eyes and letting his head drop back.

“Are you just going to stand there all night?” he muttered tersely, not opening his eyes, and Hermione’s moment of uneasiness passed, the anger regaining its place at the front of her emotional queue.

“You ambushed me!” she exclaimed, stepping around the sofa so she could stand in front of him, her arms crossed. “You dragged me here magically without even asking, and now you’re surprised I’m not just making myself at home?”

“You said you wanted to talk. I assumed you didn’t want to talk in my shitty cubicle.”

“You didn’t give me a chance to decide what I wanted!”

He finally opened his eyes and regarded her blankly, looking utterly exhausted.

“Just sit down, Granger.”

She hesitated for a moment, glaring at him with her arms still crossed, until she finally gave in with an annoyed huff and sat down on the sofa next to him.

“I assume this is your house?” she said haughtily after a small pause.

“You assume correctly.”

She shot him a dirty look, but he had closed his eyes again, a small crease appearing between his eyebrows, and he looked almost as if he was just having a bad dream. Now she was here she didn’t really know what to do with herself. If it was Ron or Harry, she’d force them to talk it out, make all their feelings be heard so they could sort whatever it was out like rational adults, but this situation made her feel anything _but _rational. The desire to verbally rip Malfoy a new one was waning fast however, rapidly fading behind her growing fatigue and emotional exhaustion. And hunger. God she was hungry! She hadn’t noticed until now, with all the excitement, but even as she thought about it, her stomach gave an almighty growl.

He chuckled throatily beside her.

“Shut up, Malfoy, I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“I can ask Pattie to make something-”

“No. No way.”

“Fine. Starve then.” He said, “Pattie!”

A tiny house elf appeared in front of him with a loud crack, she wore a striped men’s pyjama top as a dress, belted at the waist with a thick white ribbon. She barely glanced at Hermione, but just the fact that Malfoy wasn’t alone seemed to perk her up.

“You didn’t tell me we have _guests_,” she squeaked, giving Malfoy a significant look, but he was unperturbed.

“It was rather a spur of the moment thing,” he muttered, his eyes flicking over to Hermione for split second, “Is there dinner?”

“Master said he would be working late, did not know when he would be back, or I would have made a proper dinner!” she said, looking distraught, “But I can bring a cold platter, or-”

“That’s fine, Pattie,” he said wearily, “Anyway, my _guest _won’t be eating.” He threw Hermione a dry look and Pattie looked uncomfortably from Malfoy to her and back again.

“Of course, Master.” She squeaked, and disappeared again.

About ten seconds later an enormous platter appeared on the coffee table, piled high with cold meat, cheese, salad and a whole baguette with a large block of butter. A small stack of plates popped into existence next to it and Malfoy began to serve himself. Hermione watched him for a minute, her mouth watering at the smell of fresh bread when he cut into the baguette. Her stomach rumbled again, and he looked up at her despairingly with that infernal eyebrow raised again.

“Seriously? Are you really that petty? She’s already made it, just eat something for fuck’s sake.”

“Fine.” She said stubbornly, picking up a plate. “This would feed a family for a week, it’s ridiculous.”

“I think her old family was ah- fond of overindulging,” said Malfoy, spreading pâté over his bread, “I think she’s trying to fatten me up.”

“Hah,” said Hermione humourlessly, this was getting more and more surreal. She was sitting in Malfoy’s living room, eating food his house elf had prepared for them, about to talk about their past- or something. What had _happened_ to her life?

She scratched absentmindedly at her forearm. She wished she had managed to grab her jumper before they had- oh god…

“Oh god, shit, Malfoy, I left all of my stuff in your- what if someone comes into work and sees a pile of clothes and _my_ bag left in a heap in _your_ cubicle? I’ve got to go back…” she set her plate down and got up feverishly, but Malfoy seemed entirely unaffected by this.

“Pattie,” he said, and she appeared again, “Would you go to the office quickly? I left in a hurry and my guest forgot her jacket.”

“Of course, sir!”

“Malfoy, what the hell?!” she yelped as the little house elf disappeared yet again. He just shrugged though, looking bored and taking another bite of food. There was another crack, and Pattie appeared, almost invisible under the mountain of clothes that was Hermione’s jumper, jacket and bag. She placed them gently on the sofa next to her and then went over to Malfoy, dropping his tie and cufflinks on the table in front of him.

“Will that be all?” she asked, looking pleased with herself.

“That’s all, thanks, Pattie,”

She beamed, nodded and disappeared.

Hermione grabbed her jumper and pulled it over her head, mortified. She glanced over to Malfoy, but he seemed as disinterested as ever, sipping amber liquid from an ornate crystal glass that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Pattie’s magic no doubt, but the least he could have done was to offer her one too. Now her hunger was sated she could have done with a stiff drink.

He stared off into the fire for a bit, looking every inch the brooding, mysterious loner, but Hermione had no patience for his angst right now.

“So-” she began

“So what?” he said, cutting her off sharply, “You said you wanted to talk, so talk.”

“I- don’t be a twat, Malfoy, I’m just trying to be a grownup about this.”

“Ooh, is it cold up there on your pedestal?”

“I said _don’t _be a twat, Malfoy.” He rolled his eyes, but didn’t look upset, so she continued. “Look, it’s just, well this thing –whatever it is- I-goddamn it- I want it. And I think you do too. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not in the habit of letting stupid, long-passed things get in the way of getting what I want. So-just- the scar; it bothered you, right?”

There was a silence that seemed to stretch for years. Malfoy stared into the fire again and Hermione began to fiddle with a loose thread in her jumper. She had gone too far to give up now though, that little speech was humiliating for her, and quite off brand for their little game of arguing and insults. She started to wonder at what point she would just give up, just go home and write this off as a doomed endeavour, a godawful idea that she should have never entertained in the first place-

“Yes. It bothered me.” his voice was quiet, and she almost didn’t hear him over the crackle of the fire.

Hermione frowned in surprise. It was obvious that it had bothered him, yet hearing him say it out loud was still something of a shock. Her scar wasn’t the horrifying, panic inducing reminder it had once been, and these days she regarded it almost dismissively, as if it was comparable to the long thin claw marks that ran over her other forearm from a disastrous incident involving crookshanks and a muggle lawn-sprinkler. If she really focussed on the memories it still upset her deeply, but the scar wasn’t enough to trigger it anymore. She would have gone home, and maybe cried a little, but ultimately just ordered takeaway and had a relatively normal Friday night in front of the television. Malfoy though, she could see in his face that it wasn’t the same for him, and as she held his gaze, she realised that his re-entry into her life, for better or worse, had given her a sense of closure she wasn’t sure she could have got from any other source. She gulped and looked down at her knees.

“Were you there?” she asked softly, “I just- well, I don’t really remember, it’s all kind of a blur-”

“No, I- No. I was in the house, but no, I wasn’t _there._”

She nodded mechanically, and began to pick at the loose thread, pulling it apart with her fingernails.

“Well, I mean- look. You- you don’t believe all that shit anymore right?” even as she said it there was a tiny part of her that still expected him to smirk triumphantly, call her a mudblood and laugh her out of the door. An unworthy thought, perhaps, but it niggled at her nonetheless.

“Of course not.” He muttered, “I told you, not after-”

“Yes, I remember,” she murmured, not daring to meet his eyes. “So, well, it wasn’t you that did it, was it?”

“No, but- Christ, Granger, it was _my _house, it was _my_ aunt, this whole thing happened because of me. And yes, yes, I know, I was just a pawn, and just sixteen, and Vol- _he_ just wanted to punish my parents and he would have returned some other way without me, but I can’t- I can’t just-” he took another large gulp of his drink and stared into the fire again. “Whatever you’re going to say, Granger, just say it. I’ve heard it all before, and I don’t want your pity.”

“I don’t pity you, Malfoy.” She said, but he scoffed bitterly.

“Yeah right-”

“I don’t! Don’t flatter yourself, I don’t think of you as some tragic figure; you made your choice. You picked your side.”

He looked shocked for a moment, as if he had expected a softer response from her, but then his expression hardened, and he looked away.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” he said with poorly concealed resentment, “Given how your little cronies act around me.”

“Harry and Ron are well within their rights to be arseholes around you; you haven’t exactly given them any reason not to be. You know as well as I do that you shit-stir as much as you ever did with those two, and frankly I think you’re all as bad as each other. But that’s not the point. You picked your side, but you’ve served your time, and I daresay you’ve seen as much horror as any of us.”

She forced herself to stop picking at the loose thread, lest she unravel her whole jumper, folding her hands in her lap as if she was as comfortable as anything; as if she wasn’t sitting in her enemy’s house, talking about their romantic relationship, such as it was. He was silent, apparently not having anything to say against her last statement, so she kept talking. This could hardly get _more_ awkward, after all.

“Malfoy, I won’t pretend that we’re friends. I’m not even sure I like you, and I’m definitely not sure if I’ve forgiven you, but don’t kid yourself; you didn’t do this.” She rolled up her sleeve, putting her forearm on full view, the firelight flickering over the smooth, tight scar tissue, and he stared at it, mesmerised. “Bellatrix did this, and she’s dead. And that?” she pointed at his arm, “Voldemort did that, and _he’s_ dead.”

More silence, then-

“It’s not that simple.” He said, now fixing his eyes on his own forearm.

“Have you ever killed anyone, Malfoy?” she asked abruptly, and now he couldn’t look away from her, his eyes wide as if he was trapped in her gaze.

“I-I don’t think so… not-not directly…” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. She looked at him for a long moment, trying to discover any hint of guilt, any suggestion he wasn’t telling the truth, but after what felt like hours, she looked away. No, if he had killed anyone, he didn’t know it, and that was all that she herself could boast.

“Fine then. Objectively you’re no worse than Stan Shunpike.”

“Who?”

“Just some idiot who got sucked into some psycho’s bullshit.”

“Touché.”

“Indeed.”

“I’m surprised you’d be so… charitable.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she sniffed, “As far as I know Stan’s never done anything to me personally, so I’m afraid he’s got a leg up on you there. Anyway, you’re still an arsehole.”

“And you’re still an insufferable know-it-all.” He said with a tiny smile, and she allowed herself to mirror it.

He was trying really hard to look cocky and bored, but she saw past it to a small, almost invisible kernel of genuine respect. She suddenly perceived how utterly and completely strange that was. Who would have guessed Draco Malfoy would end up respecting her; Hermione Granger; mudblood extraordinaire? 

He sipped at his drink, then with a flick of his wand, poured a second glass and levitated it over to her. She took it gratefully, taking in the honey tinged scent as she took in a small mouthful. It was scotch, very good scotch too, knowing Malfoy, the bottle was probably worth a fortune- but she tried not to think about that too much. It was a peace offering, and that was all she needed to know at the moment.

Neither of them said anything for several minutes after that, each of them sporadically sipping at their drinks in silence, staring into the fire instead of making eye contact. She finally drained her glass and took a deep breath.

“I’m going to go home now,” she said, a tad tightly.

“You don’t have to-”

“Yes, but I should. I’m stupidly exhausted, Malfoy, and I’m calling it a day.”

“Fair enough,” he said, shrugging casually, but she thought she saw a spark in his eyes all the same.

She wrestled down the smile that fought to tug at her lip, but it was useless, from the way his face had lifted in response she could tell her efforts were fruitless. He stood up, setting down his glass and standing a little too close to her. She followed suit, rising from her seat until their faces were mere inches apart.

“I hate to admit it,” he husked, “But talking was a good idea, Granger.”

“Of course it was.” She said, trying not to think about the gentle lilt to his voice as he said her name, the soft aroma of whiskey on his breath and the warmth of his body so close to hers.

“See you on Monday?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, “Monday,”

“Right,”

“I’ll see you then, then,”

“Yeah,”

“Ok,” she took a faltering step backwards towards the fireplace, and he audibly exhaled.

“Granger?”

“Yes?”

“I want to pin you to that wall and run my tongue over your body until you forget your own name.”

She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She stood frozen, pinned to the spot by his eyes, somehow both cold grey and warm, molten silver at the same time. But no, this wasn’t the time. She felt it in her bones, even if some other parts of her were screaming for her to stay, so she just smiled lopsidedly, holding onto her bag and jacket with white knuckles.

“Another time, Malfoy,” she whispered, holding his gaze.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said just as she apparated away.

She stumbled onto the carpet in her flat and had to grab onto the doorframe for a moment to steady herself. Well that was… interesting.

For better or worse, she knew now that something had begun.


	15. The New Normal

Saturday was uneventful. She didn’t know what she expected, it wasn’t as if there was much that could top Friday night’s excitement, but somehow it felt like an anticlimax. Even Ginny seemed uncharacteristically subdued. She had injured her shoulder again in a match last week, and had been given strict orders from the healers _not_ to play again until it was completely healed, so she had been replaced by a substitute for the next few matches. She was sulking hard, mooching around the flat like a black cloud while Harry tried ineffectually to cheer her up.

Hermione spent Sunday afternoon playing a game of wizard’s chess with Harry while Ginny was taking a bath to ease her sore shoulder. It wasn’t her favourite pastime, but she had to admit it was a lot more fun when she actually had a chance of winning. She’d long ago given up trying to play with Ron, who beat her every time. Intellectually stimulating it may be, but after the thousandth devastating loss it became a bit depressing. She stared down at the board, not really paying attention, absentmindedly scratching her forearm.

She appreciated this little slice of normalcy, she needed it right now to ground her after all the twists and turns of the past few weeks. She felt like herself again. Almost.

Life was strange sometimes, she thought. Harry and Ginny playing out a storybook romance right next to her while she skulked around in empty offices, grinding up against ex-death eaters. Well, one particular ex-death eater, and it wasn’t as if she made a habit of it. Not exactly… Her life had definitely taken a turn for the bizarre lately, but despite everything she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. She had always thought of herself as a fairly traditional girl when it came to romance, even after she broke up with Ron, who at one point she’d been sure she’d marry, but now she was being forced to re-evaluate that view of herself. She didn’t know what she wanted from Malfoy. She’d hesitate to call it a romance at all, and the thought of him being her _boyfriend_ was laughable, but they had skipped right past friends to something…else, and she’d be lying if she said she wanted it to stop, whatever it was. She knew at some point she’d have to do some serious soul-searching, unless it just burnt itself out, which she thought was a very likely possibility. For now though, she was content just to sit back and experience it.

***

From the moment she set foot in her office on Monday morning to when she finally left at past seven that evening she was buried under a mountain of work, and didn’t have the time to even _think _about Malfoy, let alone slip away for a bit of hate-flirting. Tuesday was much the same; she forgot to eat lunch and ended up eating the sad chocolate bar which had been sitting in her desk drawer for god knows how long. By Wednesday she was determined not to starve herself again, so she set an alarm and forced herself to temporarily wrap up her work when it went off at lunchtime.

The halls of the Department of Mysteries were almost deserted as usual. She wasn’t sure what it was about this place, but somehow it just didn’t have the same bustle and flurries of activity you would see in other departments. It just maintained a constant state of slightly foreboding quiet, despite the scores of people working away behind the many closed doors. Maybe it was something to do with all the strange and powerful magic they had contained here. She made her way towards the lifts, her mind whirring away of its own accord, thinking about her research and speculating about the sort of wards and charms the Department of Mysteries might have in place to keep their corridors so deserted.

The lift dinged just as she reached for the button, the doors rattled open and standing there, as nonchalant as ever was Malfoy. He looked shocked for a moment when he saw her, but recovered quickly, folding his arms and giving her a catlike grin.

“Granger, just the person I was hoping to see.”

“Malfoy,” she nodded stiffly and stepped into the lift. “I take it you don’t actually have business in the Department of Mysteries?”

“No _ministry _business, no,” he chuckled, and she rolled her eyes. “Unless there’s some secret prototype room of requirement around here designed especially for ill-advised workplace trysts?”

“Not that I know of,” she said, keeping her voice neutral and tamping down on the smile that threatened to break her carefully controlled composure. Her stomach swooped guiltily but she managed to hold his gaze.

“A shame,” he said as the doors shut again, not looking in the least bit sad, “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to content myself with this.”

“Wait, what-”

He lunged towards her, grabbing her waist with one hand and burying the other in her hair. He walked her backwards until she was against the wall of the lift and she felt herself just _melt_ as he pressed his lips to hers, his chest and hips pushing up against her, pinning her in place. She let out a low moan and slid her tongue past unresisting lips, feeling him shudder as she did so. She wanted to wrap her legs around him, tear that shirt off and run her tongue over his chest, but there was a tinny chime that sounded as if it was coming from miles away, and he stepped back, releasing her. 

The lift doors opened again, and Hermione huffed in frustration as they revealed an empty hallway. She turned back to Malfoy to see him standing by the buttons with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You didn’t-” she started, but she could already see that he had indeed pressed every single button. The lift doors shut again, and this time it was her that pounced.

She shoved him back into the wall of the lift and he yanked her forward to him by her wrist. She huffed a little in protest, but the noise turned into a gasp as he thrust his thigh between her legs. She responded by canting her hips slightly and angling her thigh so it brushed against the growing bulge in his trousers, and now it was his turn to moan. She bit down on his lip, pulling a little and swiping her tongue over it, and he growled, the sound sending fresh waves of arousal over her.

_Ding_

The lift doors began to open again, and this time they barely managed to untangle themselves in time. It turned out to be a futile effort though, because the doors opened on yet another empty hallway.

Hermione shot Malfoy a sideways glance, and was gratified to see that his cheeks were flushed and his hair was a mess. For once in her life she was glad that her hair was as unruly as it was, she only had to shake her head a little and it would be the same mess as always.

“You alright there, Malfoy?” she asked smugly, though she was still a little out of breath.

“Just peachy,” he muttered, as the doors shut, shifting awkwardly in an almost entirely unsuccessful attempt to hide his now extremely noticeable erection.

“You started this,” she laughed, “Could it possibly be that the notorious Draco Malfoy has bitten off more than he can chew?”

“I’ll show you what-” he growled, but before he could finish his sentence-

_Ding_

The doors slid open, revealing a harried looking witch carrying a mountain of paperwork in her arms. Hermione’s cheeks burned, and Malfoy hurriedly smoothed down his hair, but the witch either didn’t notice or didn’t care, looking half-dead from overwork. She sighed long-sufferingly when she saw the buttons lit up though, turning exasperatedly to Hermione, who just shrugged apologetically, hoping she would assume it was just a malfunction or an accident. The witch said nothing, just sighed again and braced herself against the wall, hiking the pile of papers up in her arms.

The silence was deafening, and Hermione didn’t dare look at Malfoy. The lift opened at two more floors without picking anyone up, and by the time the other witch got off at the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Hermione could have just curled up and died of embarrassment. Malfoy turned to her, but didn’t lunge this time, much to her mingled relief and disappointment.

“I thought she’d never leave,” he purred, stretching languidly and eyeing her predatorily.

“I’ve got to get some lunch and get back to work.” Said Hermione firmly, though in truth she was on the fence, her blood humming with arousal despite the close call.

“You’re no fun,” said Malfoy, his grin widening.

“Hmm, you seemed to think otherwise a few moments ago.”

“I don’t recall-”

“Oh for- no, don’t say it.”

“Why don’t you refresh my memory?”

“Good god, that line was old when Merlin was young.”

“You’re ice cold, Granger, you know that?” he said, but there was no malice in his words, in fact, his lip curled and he looked at her with what- if she didn’t know better- she might have mistaken for affection.

“Again, you didn’t seem to think so etcetera, etcetera,” she smiled reluctantly and shoved him half-heartedly in the shoulder.

“Ice cold.” He repeated, returning her small smile.

_Ding_

The doors finally opened at the atrium, and Hermione hesitated for a moment before stepping out of the lift.

“See you around, Granger,”

“See you, Malfoy,”

She turned and walked towards the atrium, intending on walking round the corner to a muggle coffee shop, but she found it unexpectedly difficult not to look back. Some small part of her wondered if she should have invited Malfoy to lunch or something, after all, he had made it clear that his work was fairly low on his priority list at the moment. Still, he’d had no problem barging his way into her plans on any other occasion, so she supposed she should just be grateful he felt like leaving her alone at the moment. But then, he hadn’t exactly left her alone, had he? He had ambushed her in the lift and proceeded to make the most of every second they had alone together, and she had loved every second of it.

But no. No, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Inviting him to lunch would sound horribly like a- god, she could barely even _think_ it- a date. Whatever else she had accepted, she absolutely wasn’t ready to accept _dating_ Draco Malfoy. A small, insufferable voice in the back of her mind asked what they_ were_ doing then, if not dating, but Hermione ignored it as best she could.

***

“Malfoy,”

“Granger.”

The lift doors closed. Hermione stared straight forward while Malfoy became very interested in adjusting his cuffs.

“Heading home?”

“Yup, you?”

“Yup,”

Malfoy shifted his weight from one foot to the other and shoved his hands in his coat pockets. Hermione began to fiddle with a loose strand of hair that had escaped from her bun.

“Weekend plans?” he asked casually, still looking forward.

“Not really,” she said with a nervous laugh, “Until about an hour ago I had forgotten it was even Friday.”

“Yes well, I can understand how time must blur together spending all day in that dungeon.”

“Ha ha.”

“Yes I know I’m hilarious, Granger. Try to contain yourself.”

There was a pause. Hermione wasn’t sure whether it was awkward or charged. It might have been both.

“You?” she asked lightly.

“Huh?”

“Do you have weekend plans?”

“Oh, uh, no.” he gave her a quick sideways look that was equal parts heated and vulnerable. Hermione’s stomach swooped, and she wondered if that was what he had actually intended to convey.

“Hmm,” she said, “It uh, it looks like we’re both free then.”

“Yes,”

“Mhmm,”

The question hung in the air like a landmine, and neither of them said anything for several minutes, even after the lift finally shuddered to a halt at the atrium. They stood quietly in the lift, neither one of them eager to leave their strange little sanctuary.

“Ginny and Harry will be at the Burrow all weekend.” She blurted, not daring to meet his eyes.

He let out a small splutter that could have been a laugh, but he disguised it as a cough, and proceeded to clear his throat loudly.

“Is that so?”

“Yep,”

Her cheeks were burning now, and she chanced a look at him. To her great surprise there was the tiniest hint of redness to his pale skin, creeping up past his crisp white collar.

“Well, it is nice to have the house to yourself,” He said in a low voice.

“Yes, we shall have to make the most of it.” she said, keeping her face expressionless as he made a quiet choking noise. “I use the royal ‘we’ of course.”

“Of course.”

He shot her a wicked smile that promised terrible, magnificent trouble, and she couldn’t help but return it. She felt like if she looked hard enough, she’d be able to see every dirty little fantasy reflected in his eyes, and the thought made her want to just grab him right now and apparate away, consequences be damned.

“In any case, I hope you have a nice weekend, Malfoy.”

“Hah, yes. I think it’ll be _stimulating_,” he said that last word in little more than a whisper, leaning scandalously close to her so that his breath tickled her ear.

“Saturday,” she whispered back, and she gently but firmly placed her hand on his chest and pushed him away, turning around and finally stepping out of the lift.

Her head was spinning as she crossed the atrium.

Had that really just happened? Had she really just invited Draco Malfoy over to her place for a weekend of heavily implied sexual activities? Yes, apparently so. Well, if nothing else, she was more confident than ever in her decision not to join Harry at the Weasley’s.

She was awoken quite late that night by the sound of a magnificent eagle owl tapping impatiently on her window, looking thoroughly displeased about being sent out in the freezing rain. The note attached to its leg obviously had a water-repelling charm on it, because the thick paper was immaculate despite the grim weather outside.

_This is all very embarrassing, but if it’s to be your place, I’m afraid you’ll actually have to tell me where your place actually is. I’d invite you here but I just assume you wouldn’t shut up about Pattie the whole time. I like a challenge of course, but I can’t imagine a better mood killer than a spirited debate on house-elf rights. _

_I feel like I should mention that I don’t usually use the gilded stationary with the family crest for correspondences. I simply thought I should prove I wasn’t just some crackpot trying to get your address, so don’t get too excited. I know that will be difficult for you given your passionate love of stationary, but I would beg you to restrain yourself, at least until I get there._

_Send your reply back with Vesta, my owl. In all seriousness, just in case it needs to be said, if you don’t reply I won’t just turn up on your doorstep. Though I won’t deny I’ll be disappointed. I can barely ride the lifts at work anymore, thanks to you and your wildly unprofessional behaviour. _

_DM_

As if he’d needed to sign it, with the large, unmistakeable Malfoy family crest that dominated the page. She highly doubted it was from Lucius after all. His handwriting actually looked strangely shabby on such grand stationary, as if paper such as this was never meant for such casual correspondence. She scrawled her address just below his message with a biro as a bit of a middle finger to the Malfoy family in general, taking a small bit of savage pleasure at the idea of a muggleborn writing on their fancy stationary with a cheap, plastic, muggle pen to plan an illicit meeting with their very own little pureblood prince.

If nothing else, this weekend would be… interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays all! I don't know how much writing i'll get done over the next week or so, so i was determined to get this one out before Christmas. It's damn hard to write sexy stuff when you're hanging around your partner's family all day. 
> 
> Small explanatory note: Using the royal we is when you refer to yourself as 'we', e.g. Queen Victoria's famous: 'we are not amused'. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy and have a lovely break!


	16. Learning Curve

Hermione hated herself for it, but she spent the next twenty four hours almost constantly thinking about Malfoy. She thought about the curl at the corner of his mouth that appeared when he was convinced (usually mistakenly) that he had the upper hand. She thought about the way he shuddered and growled when she bit him or raked her nails over his scalp, and she thought about the small, sinful moans and gasps that escaped her when he kissed her, when he pushed his body against hers and clenched his hand in her hair.

Harry and Ginny had left early Saturday morning, asking over and over if she was sure she didn’t want to come to the Burrow, evidently worried about her spending the whole weekend alone. She had made her excuses, said she was looking forward to having the house to herself (which was true) and that she was planning on spending all weekend catching up on reading (which was decidedly untrue). Ginny had seemed disappointed, but not suspicious. The implicit reason for Hermione not spending too much time at the Burrow these days was Ron’s relationship with Susan. No matter how many times Molly told her she was always welcome, Hermione knew that she had become a bit of a loose end in that crowded little house full of couples, also, she had to admit that she felt for Susan. She wasn’t going to just stop being friends with Ron, or any of the other Weasleys, but it can’t have been easy for the poor girl to have her boyfriend’s ex constantly joining them for Sunday dinner, so Hermione had taken a small step back for both of their sakes.

As soon as they apparated away, however, Hermione’s thoughts jetted back to Malfoy. She had said not to come before five, just in case Harry and Ginny had lingered longer than expected, but now she was regretting it a bit. She roamed around the house, unable to settle on any one activity. She tidied up a bit, made tea, managed to sit still for a whole twenty minutes while she drank it, then stood up again and started rearranging her bookshelf. Her restlessness continued for about an hour until she finally caught sight of her anxious face in the mirror.

“Seriously?” she asked her reflection, “All this for _him?_ Pull yourself together.”

She shook her head vigorously and went to have a shower, forcing herself to ignore the simmering nervousness that had settled in her gut. She put her hair in a towel and went to make lunch, then ate her sandwich and sat down with her book on the sofa. No freaking out about Malfoy. Her pride wouldn’t allow it.

Several hours later, it was mostly dark outside and Hermione was still curled up on the sofa, having made considerable headway on the enormous tome she had volunteered to read for work. She was so engrossed in the book, dry though it was, that she nearly jumped out of her skin when there was a sudden, sharp knock at the front door.

What time was it?

She glanced at her watch and was horrified to see that it was almost six. She flew up from the sofa, immensely glad that she had bothered to get dressed after her shower, so she wouldn’t be answering the door in her fluffy dressing gown, though as it was she wasn’t exactly dressed to impress. She stood in front of the door, her heart hammering, took a deep breath and finally reached down and opened it.

Malfoy looked as polished as ever, dressed in a crisp grey shirt under a fitted navy peacoat. His hair was windswept but it somehow looked intentional, and Hermione was momentarily incredibly jealous. Her hair looked windswept whether she wanted it to or not. Even though she had been expecting him, the sight of him standing there at her door still gave her a bit of a shock, and she found herself unexpectedly tongue tied.

“Granger, uh, have I caught you at a bad time?” he asked after a beat, looking pointedly at her head.

_Shit. _She had forgotten about the damn towel. All that time worrying this morning and she had completely lost track of the time this afternoon, and now she was bloody answering the door with her hair twirled up in a towel as if she had just staggered out of the shower ten seconds ago.

“Shit,” she muttered. “Fuck’s sake. Just come in Malfoy, I won’t be a minute.”

To her relief he followed her in without another word, shutting the door carefully behind him. Hermione hurriedly pulled the towel from her hair, rubbing it dry slightly as it fell around her ears. If she had had a bit more time she might have tried to tame it, but that ship had sailed now, at least it was pretty much dry by now. She cast a quick drying charm on the towel, hung it up on a radiator and turned around to see Malfoy staring at her as if she’d grown an extra head.

“What?” she demanded, folding her arms over her chest defensively.

“Uh- I never thought I’d be saying this to you, Granger, but that was incredibly sexy.”

“What was?”

“You- your hair- falling down like that-”

“Malfoy, are you trying to say that you think my hair is _sexy_?” she asked, and even as the words left her mouth she realised how surreal this was.

“I suppose I am,” he said, sounding dumbstruck, “Fuck, this is weird, isn’t it?”

“So weird.”

“Yeah.”

There was a small, incredibly awkward pause in which neither of them dared to move.

“Do you want a drink?” asked Hermione when she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“No thanks, I’m fine.”

“Right,”

Another pause. Hermione sat down reluctantly on the sofa.

“It’s um, it’s a nice place.” Said Malfoy politely.

Hermione gave him a deeply sceptical look.

“A nice place?” she repeated incredulously.

“Yes, nice,”

“Sure, yeah. I mean it’s no countryside mansion or Kensington townhouse, but it’s nice for us peasants, I suppose.”

“I didn’t say-”

“I could see you thinking it.”

“Christ, you’re impossible,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose and finally sitting down on the other end of the sofa, “It’s called being polite, Granger. I’m so very sorry I was raised with some semblance of good manners.”

Hermione stared at him. This should be riling her up, so why wasn’t it working? Why wasn’t she getting angry? The nervousness that had been lurking all day suddenly evolved to panic, and she stood up hastily.

“This- this was a mistake.” She announced, squashing the urge to start pacing, “I- you- This is wrong.”

“Granger, wait-”

“See! I literally cannot recall a single occasion when you called me by my actual name. What am I _doing?”_

“Well, right this moment it looks like you’re panicking-”

“Shut up Malfoy,” she said automatically.

“See? You don’t call me by my name either.” He said exasperatedly.

“I- exactly. This- this is a terrible idea.”

“You don’t have to tell me!” he exclaimed suddenly, “You think I wasn’t questioning my sanity the whole way over here?”

“Oh thanks, that makes me feel _so_ much better-”

“Oh, for once in your damn life will you just shut it, Granger?” he snapped, standing up abruptly, “You think I _like_ this? You think I like thinking about you, spending all the bloody time figuring out how to ambush you without the whole ministry gossiping? If we got caught I’m pretty sure my family will disown me, not to mention whatever horrors your pathetic little cronies would inflict on me if they found out I was messing with their golden girl; of course this is a terrible idea.”

He was right in front of her, towering over her so that she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. She did though, refusing to step back and glowering up at him with every ounce of stubbornness and rage she could muster.

“You think I _like_ this?” he repeated, his voice now deadly quiet.

“I-”

“Well I do.” He said, and Hermione felt her mouth drop open.

“What?” she whispered.

“I do like it. Merlin, I might be- I probably _am_ crazy, but our little encounters are the highlight of my fucking day. And yes, I know how fucking sad that is.” He ran this hand through his hair distractedly. “Never in my wildest nightmares did I ever imagine that the sight of Hermione fucking Granger letting her hair down would make me want to fuck you until you couldn’t walk. Come to that, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure that never in _your_ nightmares did you ever want to slam me up against the wall in your office and snog me until I was ten seconds away from bending you over that desk and-”

“Alright! You’ve made your point!”

“My _point_ is that yeah, we both know this is fucked up. I don’t know about you, but that’s just not enough anymore to make me not want to do it.” he stopped pacing and took a small step towards her. “Goddamn it, Granger, you are a nightmare, and I want-I just want to-”

“Oh, fuck it,” she said, and she reached out to grab the lapel of his coat to drag him down to her.

Their lips crashed together, and she felt him inhale sharply, then raise his hands to cup her face, holding onto her as if she was the last real thing in the world. Her heart leapt, and she found that she didn’t care about the implications of that anymore, at least, not right now. The kiss seemed to last forever, neither of the willing to move, as if it would shatter the moment and when they finally did pull apart, Hermione felt as if the last part of an invisible barrier inside her had fallen away. The first part disappeared all those months ago during the Muggle Integration Program, and it had been chip, chip, chipping away ever since. It was fucked up. It was wrong, but just like Malfoy, she simply didn’t care enough to stop herself anymore.

Hermione held his gaze for a moment as they paused, barely an inch between their faces. She took in his sharp features as if she was seeing them for the first time, and possibly for the first time in her life she didn’t see Lucius or Narcissa, or even that spoilt, spiteful little bastard who had tormented her so. She just saw him; not quite a new man, but not the old one either. She wound her hand up around his shoulders and pulled him back down to her. Whatever else he was now, he was a damn good kisser.

As if to prove her point, he lightly bit at her lower lip until she finally parted them to let him slide his tongue against hers. She let out a tiny whimper that was barely more than a breath, but she knew he heard it anyway, because he chuckled, the sound reverberating through their bodies as he held her tighter. He threaded his hand through her hair, and distantly she braced herself for the sharp pinch that would inevitably come when he’d get his hand stuck in some huge great knot, but it didn’t come, and he navigated her curls with frankly impressive delicacy. She gasped as he bit her lip again, sharply this time.

“Fuck, be a bit careful, will you?”

“You love it,” he murmured, kissing from the corner of her mouth down over her jaw.

“No I don’t,” she lied.

“Uhuh, sure you don’t.”

He chuckled again, and began to punctuate the feather light kisses with nips along her jaw and down her neck. When he swept her hair aside and gently, so gently ran his tongue over the shell of her ear, she couldn’t help but let out a low moan, tightening her hands on his coat. He continued to nibble on and around her ear until she felt herself quiver against him, and he finally stepped back a fraction, looking so smug she could have killed him.

“God, wipe that smirk off your face, would you?” she muttered, but she couldn’t disguise the breathless excitement in her voice, and they both knew it.

“Why don’t you make me?”

“Fine.”

She set her jaw in determination, though she knew with her mussed hair and swollen lips she can’t have presented a very intimidating sight, and reached for her wand.

“Whoa, wait, Granger-” he said, suddenly looking far less comfortable than a few moments ago. He took a step back and raised his hand in a stopping gesture, and Hermione felt a small bit of savage pride that he apparently genuinely believed she was about to hex him.

“What’s that?” she asked lightly, trying her best to mirror his earlier smirk.

“You’re not- are you fucking with me?”

“Oh shut up,” she laughed, and launched herself at him, making him stumble backwards.

He caught her by the hips in an attempt to steady her, but when she started kissing him with reckless abandon, he moaned roughly and ran his hands up and down her sides, pausing experimentally to grab her arse. When she didn’t object or try to curse him into oblivion, he deepened the kiss and pulled her even closer, almost knocking the wind out of her. The feel of his body pressed up so tight against hers was intoxicating, and she felt him warmth seep into her, even through his winter clothes. She reached up to his shoulders and pushed his coat down until it fell away, catching the coffee table on its way down and knocking over an empty mug. She barely even noticed, because with a sharp tug he had pulled her shirt out of her waistband, and was now running his hand over the bare skin of her waist. His hand sent tiny shivers up her spine, and suddenly it wasn’t enough that his coat was lying forgotten on the floor, her whole body was hyper aware of every sensation, and it wasn’t enough that his cool fingers were now tracing tiny patterns into her lower back, delightful though it was. She wanted _more._

She threaded her fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, then slipped her hand under his collar so that her hand rested just at the top of his spine, he wasn’t wearing a tie today, so it was easy as anything to move lower, her fingers exploring the smooth, warm skin of his back, his shoulders. With her other hand she reached up, pulling back a fraction so that she could start to unbutton his shirt, and when he realised what she was doing, he moaned deeply and ground his hips into her, sending a shock of pleasure through her body.

She didn’t break the kiss, and when the first button was undone she canted her hips slightly, relishing the hard feel of his length against her. By the time the second button was undone, he had begun to smooth his hands up and down her sides, pausing tantalisingly at the sides of her breasts, then trailing down to cup and squeeze her ass. By the third, he abandoned the kiss to trail more hot, open mouthed kisses down the side of her neck. Every inch of skin she exposed seemed to spur him onwards, and when his shirt finally fell open he grabbed her ass with both hands, hoisting her off the ground and pulling them both down clumsily onto the sofa. It took her a moment to right herself, straddling him a little unsteadily on the squishy cushions. His hands settled on her hips, and they just looked at each other for a second.

She took him in, eyes lingering on the hard planes of his chest, dusted here and there with thin scars, his sharp collarbones and flat stomach, a pale line of hair trailing down to his belt. When she looked up, she found him eyeing her smugly, one eyebrow raised in silent amusement.

“See something you like, Granger?”

She rolled her eyes at him exaggeratedly, but she felt his hips twitch underneath her even so. It seemed he was fast becoming as overwrought as she was, and she cocked her head thoughtfully. She was in pretty deep now, she supposed, could it really be so bad…?

“Um- we could try-”

“What?” he asked, too quickly, apparently forgetting to mask his eagerness. She flicked her eyes up to him, feeling suddenly bashful, despite the arousal that still roared in the background. There was silence for a beat.

“Draco,” she whispered, and she saw his eyes widen, just a fraction. It wasn’t what he had expected, that much was certain, and for a moment she wondered if she had ruined everything, a step to far towards actual intimacy. The name had felt strange on her tongue, alien, but not entirely unpleasant.

“Hermione,” he murmured after a small pause.

The sound of her name coming from his mouth was perhaps the strangest thing yet about this whole experience. She was so distracted for a moment that she almost forgot that she was straddling him in her living room.

“God, this is-”

“Weird, I know.”

“Yeah.”

“We-uh- we could stop?” he asked haltingly.

She took him in again, lips swollen, bite marks peppering his jaw and neck, his hair tousled, shirt flapping open and exposing his bare chest. She wanted to run her tongue all the way from his jaw down to his navel.

“You’re not going anywhere, Malfoy.” She growled, and kissed him again.

“Thank fuck for that,” he muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but it'll probably be a while until the next one as well. Gotta deal with some unpleasantness IRL, but i'll be back, promise :)  
Anyway, hope you enjoy and much love to you all x


	17. Crescendo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT HEREIN  
YE BE WARNED

Hermione couldn’t quite believe what she was doing. Her shock and disbelief surfaced every now and again, clamouring for attention, in case she had forgotten that it was _Draco Malfoy_ she was straddling on her shabby old sofa. It was Draco Malfoy’s white-blond hair she was tugging on, his soft, rumbling groans of pleasure, and his hands that were sliding over her bare back, pushing her top up and exposing her midriff. The sudden rush of cool air made her breath hitch, and she felt him smile against her lips. She couldn’t help but smile back, nipping at his lip and hesitantly, oh so gently placed her hand on his chest. His skin was warm and smooth, and he shuddered at her touch, his eyelids fluttering for a moment as his grip tightened on her waist.

“Fucking hell, Granger,” he breathed, and feeling emboldened, Hermione ran her hand down his chest and up again, resting her fingers on his shoulder tentatively, where she could feel his muscles flexing as he pulled her tighter.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done this before, but she found herself unexpectedly nervous, feeling like every move should be cautiously tested, quite different from how she had conducted herself with him previously. She wondered if he was thinking along the same lines, because he moved his hand up her back torturously slowly, stroking his hand up and down her spine again and again, pausing each time for a split second as the tips of his fingers grazed her bra strap. Their kisses became more heated and she let out a small huff of frustration as he once again ignored her bra, even letting her shirt fall down again over her waist. She made a move to take the top off herself, but he caught her wrists and smirked at her, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Oh, no you don’t,”

“What?” she demanded, yanking her wrists away.

He just smiled wider, tilting his head curiously and regarding her for a moment. She was sure she looked a wreck, and straddling him on the sofa was hardly the most dignified position, but she stared him down all the same.

“It’s entirely possible that this is the first and last time I’ll get to undress you, Granger,” he murmured, reaching up to sweep her hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck. “And I’m damn well going to make the most of it.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but her retort turned into a breathy gasp when he anchored his hand in her hair and bit her neck, swirling his tongue over the spot and sending little shivers of pleasure through her. She clenched her hands around his shirt, which was still loosely hanging off his shoulders, holding him close to her. His mouth on her neck was driving her crazy, coaxing a soft moan from her as he kissed her collarbone, finally undoing the first two buttons of her shirt to get better access. He kissed from the hollow of her neck to the top of her cleavage, placing a tiny, light bite on her shoulder before pushing her bra strap aside and undoing another button. He moved to the other side, slipping the other strap over her shoulder as he kissed the tops of her breasts, sighing softly as he did so.

He leant back slightly to look at her, and exhaled heavily. Then, without warning, he suddenly grabbed her ass and twisted her around, pushing her down so that she was suddenly lying down on the sofa, her half-buttoned shirt riding up around her waist.

Hermione wondered vaguely if she should have made a bit more effort. Put on some fancy lingerie, maybe worn a nice dress or something rather than just throwing on a plaid shirt and jeans straight out of the shower, but Malfoy didn’t seem to mind. He slowly pushed the shirt up, but he didn’t try to unbutton it more, just gently slid the material over her skin until her midriff was exposed again. Then he leant down and placed a feather light kiss on her hipbone, another just at the bottom of her ribcage. He sat back again, smirking. She was going to kill him.

Instead, she reached up and grabbed his face, pulling him down to her in a searing kiss. He moaned roughly and pushed her into the sofa, propping himself up with one hand and using the other to grab her ass, stroking down her thigh and pulling her leg up so that her hips angled just so. He ground into her, and her breath hitched at the intensity of the feeling, even through her jeans. Apparently he thought so too, because his hand tightened on her thigh and he stopped kissing her for a moment to bury his head in the crook of her neck, groaning into her hair. She reached around him to pull him closer, grabbing his arse and pulling his hips to her, chasing the spikes of pleasure as he thrust against her.

Apparently done with taking his time, Malfoy suddenly sat up slightly, tearing at her shirt, the last few buttons pinging off onto the carpet as Hermione pushed his shirt off his shoulders. He made a weird, flapping motion to free himself from the cuffs, and she couldn’t help but let out a small snort of laughter. She half expected him to pout and demand an explanation for her amusement, but he just smiled back, his expression light and unguarded. He leant down to kiss her just as she sat up to do the same, and their lips met slightly awkwardly, a little too hard, a little too clumsy as their hands flew to each other’s waistbands.

“What happened to –ah- what happened to taking your time?” she gasped as she fumbled with his belt.

“I didn’t say I was going to take my time,” he murmured, undoing the button on her jeans, “I said I was going to make the most of it, pay attention, Granger.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,”

“Not on a first name basis anymore then?” he panted as he leant down to place tiny kisses just above the top of her bra.

“Old habits,” she gasped, breath hitching as his now loose belt buckle brushed against her bare waist, cool metal making her shiver.

“I think this is a pretty new habit, wouldn’t you say?” He said, moving so that he was speaking right into her ear, his breath tickling her neck, “Hermione,”

She let out a tiny, involuntary whimper and almost immediately regretted it, because he chuckled smoothly and leant back again. He really did look intolerably smug, so Hermione did the only thing she could think of to wipe that stupid smirk off his face, which was to shove her hand down between them and grab his crotch through his trousers. He let out a small noise that sounded like a strangled cross between a squeak and a groan, and now it was her turn to smirk.

“What was that?” she asked, giving him a small squeeze which made him inhale sharply. She leant up slightly, keeping her hand where it was, and whispered in his ear, “Draco,”

“Fuck,” he hissed, and she kissed him again, stroking him over his trousers.

She began to sit up slowly, pushing him back with her other hand on his chest until they were both sitting up on the sofa. Her shirt was still hanging off her shoulders, so she shrugged it off, making a hazy mental note to reattach those buttons at some point as it slipped onto the floor with his coat.

“I think you might like this whole first name basis thing, Draco,” she said, and he let out a short, choked laugh.

“What I _like_ is your hand on my cock,” he muttered, and she chuckled to herself at how he managed to still sound half-annoyed, even in this situation.

“What else do you like?” she whispered, before she could stop herself. Her voice was low and sultry, and he gave her a surprised look that quickly morphed into an expression of sly anticipation. 

“Ever the diligent researcher,” he drawled, and the lazy tone of his voice was so reminiscent of their school days that it jerked her out of her haze of arousal for a moment. It must have shown on her face, because he frowned, opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it again.

“What else do you like, Mal- Draco?” she repeated huskily, determined not to break the momentum they had built up.

“I-” he took a deep, shuddering breath and reached out towards her, tracing a finger down the side of her neck and along her clavicle. “I like pushing you up against the wall, I like it when you pull my hair, I like pulling _your_ hair-”

“Typical-”

“Quiet, Granger, you asked.”

“Fine.”

“Good. Where was I?” he sighed heavily and leaned into her neck, punctuating his words with little bites and kisses, “I _very_ much enjoyed messing up your office, and I didn’t know it until today, but I _really _do like you straddling me, though I think I’d like bending you over your desk more.”

“Uhuh,” she said, trying to sound dry and sarcastic rather than breathless and aroused, but to no avail. She hadn’t stopped stroking him over his trousers, and he was now looking at her with such intensity that she might have been embarrassed if she wasn’t so overwrought.

She stood up abruptly and took a step backwards. He opened his mouth to say something, but she just smiled lopsidedly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Are you coming?” she asked quietly, and he stood up so quickly that she barely had time to blink.

He grabbed her chin with one hand and anchored the other in her hair, claiming her lips in a desperate, messy kiss. His tongue caressed hers, warm and insistent, and again she felt a sudden, desperate urge to be closer to him. She grabbed his waist, her hands roving up his back, over his shoulder blades and his neck, touching every inch of him she could reach and relishing the feel of his muscles moving under her fingertips as he kissed her with frantic, wonderful enthusiasm. He walked her backwards until her back bumped against the doorframe, and she stepped to the side, pulling him by the waistband of his trousers into the kitchen. He pushed her against the counter, bracing himself with one hand and using the other to lift her thigh, she hopped up a little awkwardly, half sitting on the counter and using her leg to pull him closer. His hardness pushed against her, and she thrust back, moaning into his mouth.

Frustrated by the clothes that were still between them, she stepped down after a few minutes of knee-weakening kissing and stumbled back into the living room. He followed eagerly, and she shoved him against the wall again, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers as he pushed her jeans over her hips. Still kissing him, she shimmied out of the jeans, stepping out of them clumsily. He made a show of dragging his eyes all the way up and down her body, grinning like the cat that got the cream the whole time, and she rolled her eyes, pushing him back and finally pulling his trousers down, making him groan. He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around so that her back was against the wall again, hoisting her up by the arse and pinning her there with his hips. He squeezed her arse with one hand and moved the other behind her to finally undo her bra. She shrugged it off, flinging it recklessly away, and his hands were on her in a heartbeat. She moaned and wrapped her legs around him, nothing but the thin material of their underwear separating them now.

“Bedroom?” he panted.

“That one,” she gasped, nodding towards the door.

He grunted in affirmation and put her down. They got as far as the door before he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to him. They slammed into the door, making a picture frame rattle on its hook besides them. He leant down and kissed her chest, trailing wet kisses down, down until he reached her nipple, taking it between his lips briefly as Hermione gasped, her head falling back against the door. She fumbled behind her for the handle, finally managing to open the door, the two of them falling clumsily into the darkened room.

She squawked as she tripped over an errant jumper on the floor, steadying herself on her desk and gripping it with white knuckles as Malfoy continued his delicious exploration of her breasts, licking and groping until she was an incoherent mess. In the past, she had never been particularly excited by a lot of attention on her breasts, but there was something about knowing that it was _him_ doing it, the strangeness and surreal quality of it all that set her aflame. She reached down between them, shoving her hand into his boxers to finally wrap her hand around his cock. This made him stop abruptly, releasing her nipple with a soft pop as he groaned, bowing his head and resting his forehead for a moment on her shoulder.

“You’re impossible,” he growled.

She grinned back at him, breathless with excitement, and they seemed to reach a unspoken agreement. He hoisted her up again, sitting her down on the desk and toppling a cup full of pens off onto the floor. She shuffled out of her knickers as he freed himself from his boxers, and she hooked her leg around him, pulling him to her. He gently pumped himself, looking down at her as she shuffled forwards, linking her arms around his neck and lining herself up with him.

They looked at each other for a moment. His eyes were dark with arousal, but something in them was still questioning, even as he gently brushed against her entrance. She threaded her fingers through his hair and nodded silently. He smiled, a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Slowly, slowly he pushed into her, his eyes fluttering closed and a tiny frown appearing between his eyebrows. Hermione watched him, and as he finally settled inside her, she had a moment of utter clarity. For one split second she was suddenly, completely, devastatingly aware of what she was doing. Then he began to move and she was lost.

She clenched her hand in his hair as the pleasure built and built inside her, her soft sighs mingling with his own rough moans. He suddenly grabbed her thigh, hitching it up until her knee was almost to her chest, and suddenly the angle was _perfect_.

“Oh _God_,” she breathed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. God, don’t stop- don’t-”

“You- you’re fucking perfect, you know that?”

That did it. Every nerve in her body suddenly _sang, _and her head shot back, her fingernails digging into his back, a high, delighted gasp escaping her as she came around him. He kept moving, the inexorable rhythm adding to the impossible pleasure until she finally released her hand that was clawed on his back, still letting out small, fluttery sighs with each thrust. Meanwhile, Malfoy was rapidly approaching his own release if she was any judge, his eyes were half shut and his hair had lost some of its earlier elegance, a few strands falling messily into his face. She reached up and brushed them aside, clumsily stroking his cheek and resting her hand on the nape of his neck.

He muttered something she didn’t catch.

“Huh?” she hummed, feeling floaty and a little light headed, though she already felt the swirl of pleasure reignite inside her and he moved faster.

“Say- say my name,” he husked, frowning slightly as if he couldn’t believe he was asking, but Hermione was only too happy to oblige. She lent forwards and pulled his face towards her, scraping her teeth gently over his earlobe before whispering-

“_Draco_,”

“Oh fuck-”

He let out a strangled groan and she moaned into his ear, tightening her grip on his neck, the rhythm of his hips stuttering and faltering as he finally found his release. His movements slowed, his head bowed to rest his forehead against hers, and they stayed like that for a moment as their breathing evened out, chests heaving . He pulled out of her with a deep, shuddering sigh, and with a quick look over his shoulder, fell backwards onto her bed, his legs dangling off the side.

“_Fuck_.” He breathed.

She stood up shakily and collapsed beside him. Her wand was where she had left it on her bedside table. At some point she’d cast a contraception charm, clean herself up and, well, figure out where to go from here. But not now. Now she was exhausted and satisfied, and she had no desire to move an inch from where she lay. She closed her eyes and exhaled heavily, pushing her hair off her face. Somewhere to her left, Malfoy swore occasionally, sounding almost reverential.

She didn’t know how long they lay like that. Every now and again one of them would shift slightly, trying to get more comfortable yet unwilling to move too much. Unconsciously they inched closer together, until finally, Hermione stretched her fingers out and they brushed against his wrist, his pulse still hammering under his heated skin. She thought his breathing hitched a little, but it might have been her imagination.

He sighed gently, shuffling over another centimetre, and curling his fingers up so that the very tips touched hers. Mere minutes ago (or had it been hours?) she had been desperate to be closer to him, touch him and feel him against her, but now this tiny amount of physical contact felt somehow more intimate than anything else they had done.

She didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

A niggling voice in the back of her mind told her to move her hand, take a step back and don’t get caught up in the euphoria, but she ignored it, and curled her fingers a tiny bit more around his.

Maybe he was telling himself the same thing, but he didn’t move either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)
> 
> This chapter has been kicking my ass for most of the last week, so i'm just going to post the damn thing before I start tweaking it any more.  
Hope you enjoyed!


	18. Peacocks and Pizzas

Hermione opened her eyes. It was still dark, but she didn’t need the light to know she wasn’t alone. At some point she had got cold and shuffled under the duvet, and he had followed, crawling in besides her and rudely flinging an arm over her without so much as a word. Typical, insufferable presumption. Not that she really felt like complaining, warm and comfortable as she was. It was actually kind of, well… kind of nice. Now there was a description she never thought she’d be applying to him.

Somewhere in the back of her mind a sly, snide voice tutted at her; _Hermione Granger, what have you done?_

She chanced a sideways look at him. His breathing was deep and even, and his hair was tousled, starkly pale against her navy bedspread even in the low light. A thin sliver of light sliced through the gap in the curtains from the streetlamp outside, and it cast his face in deep shadows, accentuating his sharp cheekbones, his straight, slightly pointed nose. She felt like she should be panicking. Draco Malfoy was in her bed. Draco Malfoy was _naked_ in her bed. She frowned slightly. Telling herself that fact should have elicited at least some sort of vaguely horrified emotional reaction, but all she felt was a strange, almost sickly swooping feeling in her stomach, and snippets of memory began to resurface lazily in her mind.

Frantic hands roving over each other’s bodies, desperate to touch, tease and explore. Teeth and tongues and insistent, urgent kisses. She hoped her desk would hold up, she’d be annoyed if it was broken. She loved that desk, but the damn thing was old when she’d bought it and they- well, they had certainly tested its sturdiness.

She tried to feel panic again, but again she only felt tired and a little giddy, a mischievous smile threatening to break across her face. She felt as if she had got away with breaking the rules, except she _never_ felt this way when she got away with breaking the rules, she always just felt relief and a tinge of guilt, maybe even a little mild paranoia that she was about to get caught after all.

Last night though, last night was wrong, and stupid… and so much damn _fun_. And judging from the sheer amount of swearing he'd been doing, he had fun too. He hadn’t run away either, she realised with a small shock. In fact, it wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate to describe what they were doing now as… cuddling. Now that _did _make her feel uneasy, if only a tiny bit. If she shouldn’t have had sex with Draco Malfoy, she damn sure shouldn’t be _cuddling_ him. She just wished she wasn’t quite so incredibly comfortable.

She reluctantly craned her neck to catch a glimpse of her clock. It was nearly 8pm. It seemed it hadn’t been last night after all. Had it really only been a few hours since he had turned up at her door? Apparently so. She never slept in the day, and she briefly hoped that she hadn’t messed up her sleep pattern too much; they must have dropped off after… everything. She was definitely getting hungry though, maybe she could just slip out and grab one of those huge chocolate chip cookies she had picked up the other day, if Ginny hadn’t already snaffled them while Hermione was at work. 

She carefully moved his arm from her waist and shuffled over until she was perched on the edge of the bed, wincing at every creak of the metal bedframe. She needn’t have worried though, because as she glanced back after shrugging on her dressing gown, she saw he was still fast asleep, his features relaxed and untroubled. She stopped for a moment, hand hovering over the door handle, her brain reaching ineffectually for some errant thought that yet eluded her. The moment passed though, and she gently opened the door, slipping back out into the sitting room before the light could shatter the calm darkness of her bedroom. She shut the door behind her, grimacing at the loud click and squinting in the suddenly bright light.

The sitting room looked much the same as it ever had, except for the clothes that were strewn haphazardly across the place, his shirt wedged between the sofa cushions, her bra hanging comically off one of the dining chairs. She shook her head, but couldn’t help the rebellious smile that curled her lip. She still couldn’t quite believe she had actually done it. She had actually had sex with Draco Malfoy, and now he was sleeping in her bed, under the duvet she had bought at a muggle store for thirty quid when she’d first moved in here. She let out a small, guilty giggle and tiptoed into the kitchen, where she poured herself a large glass of water, drained it in one go and refilled it.

As she had expected, Ginny had definitely got to her cookies, but she’d apparently had the great generosity of spirit to leave one for Hermione. She took a bite and threw the bag away. She’d have to have an actual meal at some point, but she still had to figure out what she was going to do about-

“Not going to share, Granger?”

“Jesus fucking- you nearly gave me a heart attack!” she squeaked, placing her hand over her chest for dramatic effect. “Where do you get off, creeping up like that?”

“I wasn’t creeping,” he snorted, striding across the room without a shred of embarrassment to stand next to her, leaning nonchalantly against the counter in just his boxers, “You just weren’t paying attention.”

“I thought you were asleep,” she said lamely. At least he wasn’t naked.

“I was asleep, I woke up.” he said, plucking the cookie out of her hands with a seeker’s dexterity.

“Hey!”

He rolled his eyes at her, broke it in two and handed her the half she’d already taken a bite out of. She considered admonishing him for stealing her food, but decided against it, and instead took another bite, regarding him warily.

“What time is it?” he asked after he’d finished his half.

“Um, nearly eight. It’s still today, which was something of a surprise,” she said, taking a small sip of water. “I mean, I know if it was tomorrow I would have gone to sleep at like, seven pm, which I haven’t done since I was about nine years old, but still.”

She was rambling, she knew it, but she was so utterly out of her depth in this situation that she was at a loss for what to do, he had ambushed her before she had a chance for formulate a game plan. He nodded but didn’t say anything, which didn’t help matters. He was also dressed only in his underwear, which again, did not help matters. Hermione felt like a disturbingly large proportion of her willpower was going into not staring at his chest or worse, his crotch.

“Do you want some water?” she asked after nearly a full minute of silence.

“Sure.”

She nodded and poured him one. Like her, he drained it and leaned past her to refill it from the tap. As he stretched she caught a glimpse of his shoulder blade, and the small, red marks she had left with her fingernails. She cleared her throat awkwardly and shuffled out of his way, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears. There was another uneasy silence in which they both put far too much effort into not meeting each other’s eyes.

“So-”

“Do you-?”

“Sorry-”

“No, you go.”

“It’s fine, what were you going to say?” she mumbled, fiddling with her hair.

“Ah- well, to be honest I’m not sure.”

“Oh.”

“What were you going to say?”

“Ugh, god knows.”

He chuckled, finally giving her a knowing smile as they shared a moment of understanding, a true rarity between the two of them.

“It’s still weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Would it be less weird if I made fun of your hair, maybe called you some names?”

“Maybe,” she chuckled, putting her face in her hands and laughing, “God, how on earth did we get here?”

“I take it that’s a rhetorical question?”

“Yes it’s a rhetorical question, my memory’s fine, thanks.” She said, narrowing her eyes at him, but still unable to repress a small smile, which he returned, eyes twinkling mischievously.

“That’s good to hear,” he murmured, “Because I’d hate for you to forget such spectacular sex.”

She let out a shocked giggle, which she was immediately mortified by, and she cleared her throat to try and mask the stupid, girly noise that had just escaped her.

“Spectacular?” she said, voice still thin and high pitched in her surprise.

“You didn’t think so?” he said smoothly, raising a quizzical eyebrow at her as if they were discussing the merits of different potion making techniques. He really was enjoying himself far too much.

Once again, she wished he wasn’t quite so much taller than her, at the best of times he had a way of putting her on the spot with disarming intensity, and now she felt small under his gaze. She hated it, so she drew herself up, taking a small step backwards so she didn’t have to crane her neck to look him in the eye. Damn it, she was not going to act like some stupid, lovesick girl with him. She was Hermione Granger; war hero, and Hermione Granger did not giggle and squirm over boys, especially not _this _boy.

“No, I did- I thought so.” she said lightly, desperately willing away the blush that threatened to break across her face like a giant sign that said ‘_Draco Malfoy is fantastic at sex_!’ His ego definitely did not need _that_ boost.

“Oh?” he murmured, looking infuriatingly calm as he shifted slightly so he was just a tiny bit closer to her.

“Yeah,”

“Oh come on, Granger, throw me a bone here,” he chuckled, his composure finally breaking as he rolled his eyes exasperatedly. “Come on, say it. You know you want to,”

“I don’t know what-”

“Yes you do,”

“Don’t be a twat, Malfoy,” she sniffed haughtily, but it seemed like he was pinning her to the spot with his eyes, and her lip twitched despite her discomfort.

“Your manners are truly shocking, you know that?”

“God, fine. Fine. It _was_ spectacular. It was- it was really great.” She said in a rush, unable to stop herself smiling, “There, are you happy?”

“I’m delighted,” he said, giving her a smug, toothy grin, “I just fucked Hermione Granger on her own desk, why wouldn’t I be happy?”

“_Ugh_. You are the worst.”

“You know, once upon a time I might have believed you actually thought that-”

“I _do_ think that.”

“See now, that’s not very convincing when not an hour ago you were moaning my name.”

“Malfoy, you need to shut up -”

“Make me.” he said, his voice low and velvety as he leant another few inches closer to her.

She blinked, feeling suddenly a bit overwhelmed.

“Why are you still here, Malfoy?” she asked quietly. His head jerked back a little and she thought she could see a few of the old walls come up as his expression hardened almost imperceptibly.

“I- are you kicking me out?” he said with forced nonchalance, his arms folded defensively over his chest.

“Well, no, I just-” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, “I just- I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t-”

“You thought I’d just, what? Call you a mudblood and run for the hills?”

“Oh for- don’t be so bloody dramatic. I don’t know what I thought you’d do. Come to that, I don't know what _I'm_ doing...This stuff- well it’s not exactly clean cut at the best of times, is it?”

“S’pose,” he mumbled.

He unfolded his arms and for the first time Hermione noticed the faded smudge of black on his forearm, it could have almost just been where he had accidentally dragged his arm through still wet ink, but it wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t. She inhaled sharply, though she could barely make out the design, she didn’t know how she had missed it earlier. He followed her gaze and hurriedly re-folded his arms, shuffling awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Um, well, case in point I suppose.” She said with a slightly nervous laugh.

“I uh, I guess the concealment charm is wearing off,” he said, flicking his eyes up briefly to meet hers. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

“When did you cast it?” she asked, curious despite herself.

“Right before I came over,”

“It shouldn’t be-”

“Yeah, I know. It shouldn’t be decaying already,” he sighed tiredly, “It’s just- normal magic doesn’t work the same way with this bloody thing. I usually have to re-cast it a few times a day at work.”

“Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully, wondering what else he had tried.

“I’m not your guinea pig, Granger,” he said quickly, as if reading her mind.

“But what if you tried combining-”

“Honestly Granger, brightest witch of our age you may be, but your pillow talk leaves much to be desired.”

She put her hands on her hips and scowled at him irritably, but her heart wasn’t in it. After a few seconds she shook her head exasperatedly and crossed the room to the fridge, opening it and peering inside, in part to distract herself from the way Malfoy’s eyes had tracked her greedily as she moved. Plenty of food, but nothing particularly fast, everything here would require a degree of preparation she simply didn’t have the energy for right now.

“I’m going to order a pizza.” She announced.

“Ok…” he said, sounding wary of her sudden change of subject. “I can go-?”

“Or you could- I mean-”

“Or what?”

There was a small, but very weighty pause.

“You don’t have to go.” She said in little more than a whisper.

Her heart hammered in her chest and she forced herself to maintain a neutral expression. This wasn’t weird… right? They had just had sex- actually, the best sex she had had in quite some time, so eating a pizza together was hardly overstepping at this point. Anyway, it was takeaway pizza, not oysters and chocolate covered strawberries. It wasn’t weird. It wouldn’t be weird unless they _made _it weird.

“Really?” he asked after a beat.

“I mean, it’s one less meal your house elf has to prepare.” She said, shrugging casually. “Can’t promise it’ll appeal to your oh-so-sophisticated palate though.”

“I’ve eaten pizza before Granger,” he said dryly, “Honestly, do you think I dine every night on roasted peacock and champagne?”

“Something like that,” she said, suddenly mildly suspicious of the presence of those large, haughty peacocks at the Manor. Apparently following her train of thought, he raised his hands defensively and laughed in disbelief.

“Oh for god’s sake, I was joking. I have never eaten a peacock, since apparently that needs to be said.”

“Well, I don’t know what you aristocrats do for fun, do I?”

“I hear peacock is disgusting anyway.”

“Jesus…”

“Joking.”

“I hope so.”

“Well, I actually have heard that, but-”

“Please stop talking and pick a damn pizza.”

“Fine.”

To Hermione’s mingled relief and disappointment, Malfoy put his shirt back on while they waited to the pizza to arrive, evidently not wanting to eat in just his underwear, but he seemed perfectly happy to eschew the rest of his clothes for the time being. He lounged luxuriantly on the sofa, pushing her coffee table back a few inches with his bare feet so he’d have more room to stretch his legs.

“Make yourself at home, I suppose,” she muttered resentfully. She bent down and picked up a few pieces of detritus that had been knocked to the floor in their earlier enthusiasm, then placed them carefully back down on the coffee table, which was now annoyingly off centre.

“Was uh- was that photo there before?” he asked, pointing to the wall as she pointedly stepped over his extended legs and sat down on the other end of the sofa. She followed his hand to where a particularly nice picture of she, Ron, Harry and Ginny was still up on the wall by the kitchen door. It was from before she and Ron had broken up, and he had his arm around her, but it was such a lovely picture of the four of them she didn’t have the heart to take it down. Plus, she remembered spending a solid hour getting her hair to look like that, and she felt that there should still be at least some evidence of her hard work.

“Yup, it’s from just after Ginny and I finished at Hogwarts. Why?”

He smirked, though his smug veneer wasn’t quite as convincing as usual, there was a kernel of discomfort behind his eyes. She wondered if she would have noticed it a month ago.

“I’m just- I’m sitting here on your sofa in my underwear and you’re- I mean, I assume you’re naked under that thing, and there’s Potter, smiling down at me. It’s just a bit weird.”

She stared at him.

“What-you- you cannot be serious.” She stammered, letting out a disbelieving peal of laughter. “Ok, first of all, it’s _incredibly_ weird that you’re apparently more bothered by Harry than by Ron, who I actually used to go out with.”

“I’m not _bothered-_” he said, a tad sulkily.

“And secondly, if _that_ creeps you out then I’d better not mention that there’s probably at least another two photos of him in my actual room.” She giggled again, “Honestly, you _know_ we’re friends, you can’t be all that surprised that my _home_ contains evidence of that friendship-”

“Shut up, Granger,” he mumbled, slouching down on the sofa and looking so much like a petulant child that she couldn’t help but laugh again.

“There’s a picture in my office too,” she said teasingly, nudging him with her elbow.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist, and for a moment Hermione wondered if she had gone too far, but then he pulled her slightly off balance, catching her chin in his hand and pulling it up so that his lips met hers as she half-fell into his lap. She sighed, feeling her shoulder and neck muscles tense momentarily before relaxing into the kiss, her body automatically softening and leaning into him. He wound his hand around the back of her neck and into her hair, and just like earlier this evening, she slipped her hand under his shirt to grasp his hip, the other clenched around a cushion. She tentatively swiped her tongue over his lower lip, and he let out a deep moan before responding in kind, hand moving to rest on her thigh, tracing patterns into the soft material of her dressing gown.

Suddenly, there was a sharp knock at the door, and they sprung apart.

“Um, pizza.” Said Hermione after a second.

“Right.”

“I’ll just-”

“Yeah.”

***

Later that evening, Draco stepped out of the fireplace at his house. He felt like he had eaten a bag of cement. He and his family had visited Naples once, and he had rather enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere, sitting in a café by the sea and sharing a huge pizza with his mother. It had seemed like such a pleasant, casual way of dining, a far cry from the stuffy dinner parties his parents held, or even the stodgy (but still fantastic) food at Hogwarts. What he had eaten tonight was… not the same. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but he was fairly certain he’d just eaten the equivalent of one of Pattie’s enormous family sized spreads, condensed into a deceptively small package. He hadn’t complained, it was obvious that Granger already thought he was some sort of pampered little prince, and he had felt that she didn’t need any more ammunition on that front, but by the third slice he was already uncomfortable. How she managed to eat like that he had no idea, she wasn’t exactly waif-like, but if she ate like that all the time it was a miracle she wasn’t spherical. Actually, she had a great body, a _fantastic_ body, far better than he would have expected, given it was always hidden under those dowdy office clothes. But then, he couldn't really say exactly what he had expected, his opinions of her had been twisted, turned and overturned so many times in the last few months that he didn't know what to think anymore.

He shook his head abruptly and tried ineffectually to banish the flood of images from this evening that streamed into his mind. Goddamn but she was incredible, those little breathy moans, that tongue, those _legs _and the way she kept wrapping around them his waist... He had thought that the invitation to eat together might have meant there was the possibility of round two, especially given how she responded when he kissed her again on the sofa, but she had, intentionally or not, put an end to that idea by feeding him what he could only assume was a literal ton of bread and cheese. In any case, they had both agreed that since she wasn’t sure when Ginny was getting back tomorrow, it was probably for the best that he didn’t linger. So they had gathered up their clothes silently, and he had left without so much as a kiss on the cheek. Still, he had the distinct impression that she was giving him a wide berth because she knew that if she let him start wheedling his way back into touchy, flirty territory, she’d be back on top of him before either of them knew what happened. Or maybe he just got that impression because it was exactly what _he _had been doing.

When they had been standing near each other in the kitchen, he had had to concentrate extra hard to ignore the soft scent of her hair, or the way she kept stopping herself from staring at his chest, abruptly tearing her eyes away and focusing hard on random objects around the kitchen. He knew that if he started touching her again, even after all that pizza, he’d be starting back on a road he couldn’t help but see to the end. He had, perhaps naively, thought that maybe sleeping with her would finally break this stupid, incomprehensible tension between them, not that the tension wasn’t a great deal of fun, but to say it was disrupting his life would be an understatement. It hadn’t broken though, in fact, if anything he was even more eager to continue, after all, there was so much they had skipped in their haste this evening, the possibilities were endless.

He thought about how the lights had been off in her bedroom, he hadn’t had nearly as much time as he would have liked to ogle her naked body. He thought about her mouth on his neck, and wished they’d had the time (or the patience) for her to trail those delicious bites and kisses down his chest until she was kneeling in front of him, ready to take him in that gorgeous mouth…

He’d thought he had been in trouble all those months ago after the Muggle Integration Programme. He hadn’t known the half of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday, all!  
I'm torn between thinking that this is too awkward and that it's not awkward enough. I considered having them have 'The Talk'TM, but ultimately decided that they're both kind of too much of a hot mess right now to do anything so rational.


	19. The Socratic Method

Ginny turned up in the evening on Sunday, she and Harry stumbling out of the fireplace as Hermione was lounged on the sofa reading the Daily Prophet. She had spent probably too much time tidying the place up this morning, terrified at the possibility of Ginny finding one of Malfoy’s socks or something, and even more terrified of the questions that would follow. Not that he would be identifiable by a sock. At least, she didn’t think so, but thinking about it she wouldn’t put it past him to have monogrammed socks, insufferable toff that he was. She hadn’t found any incriminating evidence though, and the place was looking almost abnormally clean and tidy when Ginny returned.

“Have a good time?” she asked over her shoulder as Harry went to make tea.

“Yeah, it was good, George enchanted Percy’s dumplings so that they kept bouncing away from his fork and one landed in his beer. Good stuff.”

“Oh no,”

“Nah, it was great,”

“Not for Percy,” piped up Harry from the kitchen, “You want tea, Hermione?”

“No thanks, I just had a cup,”

“How about you, good weekend?” asked Ginny, dropping heavily onto the sofa beside her.

“Yeah, alright; read my book, did a bit of cleaning.” _Had sex with Malfoy_.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

When Ginny didn’t say anything more, Hermione looked up from the paper to find her scrutinising her with a sharpness that was so Molly-like that she had to stifle a laugh.

“What, do I have something on my face?”

“No-oo…” she said slowly, “I don’t know… something’s-”

“Here’s your tea, Gin,” said Harry, displaying impeccable timing as ever.

“Thanks, love.”

“Have a good weekend, Hermione?” asked Harry.

“Yeah… fine,” she said cautiously, now extremely perturbed by Ginny’s scrutiny. She was still staring at her. She couldn’t- no. There was no way that she could possibly- no, she couldn’t…

“Erm, what’s going on?” asked Harry, clearly not blind to the weirdness that had suddenly popped up between the two of them.

“Nothing, it’s fine, I’m just tired,” said Ginny brightly, switching back to normal unnervingly quickly and blowing daintily on her tea.

“Right…” said Hermione and Harry simultaneously, exchanging a look.

***

Later that evening, Harry had decided to stay here tonight and gone for a shower, leaving Ginny and Hermione alone in the sitting room. The second the bathroom door clicked shut, Ginny turned to her with laser focus.

“So,” she said, a grin slowly spreading across her face.

“So what?” said Hermione casually. “What’s going on with you? You’re looking at me as if I’ve turned into a yeti.”

“Really? I’m giving you ample opportunity to fess up here,” she said coolly.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Fine, but remember you forced my hand here.” Ginny gave her a questioning look as if to say, ‘you sure?’, and Hermione forced herself to look innocently confused. Ginny shrugged. “I forgot the book I said I would lend Fleur. I came back here just after dinner to get it and-”

Hermione’s heart stopped beating for a moment, a picture perfect snapshot appearing in her mind of the living room scattered with their clothes, her bra hanging off the chair…

“Shit…”

“Oh, yes. Shit indeed. My, my, Hermione, you have been _busy_.” Said Ginny gleefully.

“Shut up Ginny,” she mumbled, horrified humiliation spreading like ice through her body.

“Imagine my surprise,” she said theatrically, “When instead of finding you curled up on the sofa with a book, I enter our flat to find the place strewn with clothes, _men’s_ clothes, Hermione, as well as quite a few of yours, I might add-”

“Oh god_…_”

“Anyway, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out, I’m just glad I didn’t actually see anything.”

“Oh _god…”_

“So I just backed back into the floo quietly and told Fleur I couldn’t find the book.”

There was a pregnant pause. Hermione wished the earth would swallow her up.

“I- look, Ginny- shit.”

“Indeed,” she repeated, sitting back smugly and looking at Hermione as if she was the most entertaining thing she had seen all year. “You know, if you wanted the place to yourself you could have just asked. I assume it was the guy we were talking about before?”

“Shh!” Hermione hissed urgently, “Harry’s right there- just- oh god, I am not having this conversation right now.”

“Well you’re going to be having it eventually. I can be very persistent.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” she muttered.

“Thanks for tidying up though, the place looks great,”

“You’re welcome.” Said Hermione flatly. “Just, please, Gin, don’t tell anyone? I’m so far from ready to talk about this it’s not even funny.”

“’Course not, I’m not a monster, Hermione-”

“Thank you,”

“I just believe that it’s my right and privilege as your roommate to be privy to all the latest gossip regarding your love life.”

“Oh. Great.”

“Oh come on, like you wouldn’t want to talk about it eventually. Talking about it’s the best part!”

“I don’t know if that’s true about this particular situation,” she muttered, “But fine, I’ll talk about it when Harry’s gone, but I don’t know-”

“Harry!” yelled Ginny, standing up and walking towards the bathroom door.

“What?” came his muffled voice.

“You can’t stay here tonight, sorry.”

“What? I just got here! I already told Ron-”

“I know, sorry, extenuating circumstances, tell you about it later.”

“No you absolutely will not!” hissed Hermione.

“Fine, I just need to talk to Hermione, ‘kay?” said Ginny, rolling her eyes long-sufferingly, as if she couldn’t believe how uncooperative the two of them were being.

“Ugh, can I finish my shower at least?”

“Of course! See you in a mo.”

Ginny happily sat back down on the sofa by Hermione, who was glowering at her.

“What?”

Harry left half an hour later, muttering under his breath about how he had already told Ron the place was his for the night, and how Ginny owed him for this, but she didn’t seemed bothered, nodding mechanically and practically shooing him out the door. He apparated away, and Ginny turned around, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Hermione scowled. Between Ginny and Malfoy she was getting _really _bored of this constant stream of smugness.

“Oh don’t look at me like that. Before you say anything, Gin, I don’t know what you think you know-”

“Oh, Hermione, sweet Hermione, you _desperately_ need to lighten up.”

Her patronising tone annoyed Hermione to no end, but she felt a great relief settle over her anyway, because if Ginny was telling her to lighten up, it meant she had no idea whose clothes she had seen strewn all over the apartment. She took a deep breath and tried to approach this as if it really was just some guy from work.

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Yay!” said Ginny, brimming with barely contained excitement, “Start from the beginning.”

“It’s… complicated.”

“That much is obvious, otherwise you wouldn’t be so bloody skittish about it.”

“Well… yeah.” She said resignedly. She took another deep breath and tried to think of the best way to explain the crux of the situation while still giving away the minimum amount of information possible. “So, there’s this guy from work-”

“Well I know that much-”

“Shut up. So there’s this guy, and he was driving my absolutely mental, and not in a good way- such an unbelievable twat, Ginny, you have no idea.” She shoved aside the thought that Ginny actually had a very good idea about how much of a twat he was, and continued, “Anyway, he just kept turning up and pissing me off, and we’d argue and argue, and then suddenly, we were-”

“Honing your wandwork?” said Ginny, waggling her eyebrows shamelessly.

“_Ugh_.”Groaned Hermione, with feeling.

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“I’m not. Continue.”

“In any case, there wasn’t any –ugh- wandwork until yesterday, so don’t go thinking I’ve been fooling around at work or anything.” She said firmly, though she was fully aware of the very shaky foundation of that statement. “But- well, it was getting um, distracting? So I finally just decided to-”

“Break the tension.” Said Ginny, nodding knowingly.

“Yeah.”

“Did it work?”

“I-I don’t know…”

“Ok, less complicated question; was it good?”

Hermione opened her mouth, closed it again and looked away, putting every fibre of her being into not smiling.

“Yeah, it was good,” she said quietly, “It was… fun.”

“Oh my god, Hermione, it absolutely did NOT work. Look at your face!”

“What’s wrong with my face?” she demanded.

“It’s all – I don’t know- squirmy.”

“Squirmy?”

“Yeah, you know, as if you’re trying really hard to keep your excitement in. It’s almost as if, as I told you weeks ago, having sex did _not_ in fact lessen the sexual tension between you two, and now all you can think about is doing it again!”

“I-that’s not-”

“Good lord you’re transparent, don’t ever play poker, Hermione.”

“Shut up,” she mumbled, but Ginny just grinned.

“So, I mean, sorry if this is a really stupid question, but why can’t you just, you know, ask him out?”

“Hah. No.” said Hermione flatly with a short, sardonic laugh.

“But why? If the sex was that good, why not just give it a go? Worst case scenario you have a short, hot fling and then go your separate ways, right?”

“I- I really can’t. I just- can’t.”

“Did you already decide to go your separate ways?”

“Not- not exactly, no…”

There was a pause.

“He’s not like, married or something-?”

“God no!” squeaked Hermione, horrified, “I can’t believe you think I would-”

“Alright, alright, just checking.” She raised her hands in a placating gesture, but then tilted her head curiously, frowning anxiously at Hermione, “But- so then, why? Why not? Help me understand.”

“I’m not sure I can,” she sighed, “See, this is why I didn’t want to talk about it, I have no idea what I am doing. I have no idea what I’m_ going_ to do. It’s all very… frustrating.”

“I just don’t understand what the big deal is,” said Ginny, almost to herself, “Is he hideous, is he really old or something?”

“No, nothing like that-”

“Is he- oh my god, we _know_ him, don’t we?!”

Hermione said nothing. Her whole body had frozen, and she didn’t trust herself to speak.

“It all makes sense, why else would you be so twitchy about talking about it? I mean, Harry and Ron work at the ministry, so it’s not all that crazy that they would have at least met the guy if you work with him,”

“That’s not it, Gin,” said Hermione weakly, but Ginny continued on as if she hadn’t spoken.

“But the fact that you’re still weird about it around _me _makes me think that it’s someone we all know, someone from Hogwarts, maybe?”

“Ginny. Stop.”

“Why?”

_Because you’re getting far too close…_

“Because I’m asking you to.”

“I- fine. I’m not trying to interrogate you, Hermione, really. I just- I’m curious, ok?”

“I know,” she sighed, “I’ll tell you what, as soon as I have any idea what the hell is actually happening, you’ll be the first to know, ok?”

“Have you talked to _him_?” she asked gently, but Hermione just barked out a humourless laugh.

“We uh, we don’t do that.”

“Well maybe that’s the bloody problem!” exclaimed Ginny exasperatedly.

“One of many, believe me,” she muttered.

“Christ… Well, I’ll tell you this much, one or better yet, both of you are just going to have to suck it up and act like bloody grownups, or this is going to turn into a mess- even more of a mess. It’s one thing having a bit of fun at work-”

“We _weren’t-_”

“-But it’s quite another to let it snowball into a big, weird tangle of feelings, especially since you’ve said the two of you were _already_ at each other’s throats half the time.”

“Yeah I know,” she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose, “He brings out the worst in me though, he always has.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment, but then Ginny opened her mouth, frowned and shook her head slightly, suddenly looking like she was a million miles away.

“Ginny? You ok?”

“I-um-”

Hermione watched helplessly as Ginny’s face cycled through several strange expressions, frowning slightly, smiling for a split second, then grimacing, but then her eyes widened, and the expression on her face was pure, unadulterated shock.

“No…”

“Gin, what are you-”

“No fucking way…”

She stood up abruptly and turned away, then turned back, looking more flustered than Hermione had seen her in ages, but she was rooted to the spot in terror and silent as Ginny rounded on her.

“Tell me right now, Hermione, did you just- I can’t even- please tell me you did not just have _sex_ with _Draco fucking Malfoy?”_

Hermione couldn’t speak, and she knew that Ginny could see the truth on her face, because her mouth dropped open and she blinked speechlessly down at her, her mouth silently forming words that Hermione couldn’t make out.

“Ginny, I-”

“Oho, oh my god, I was just excited you had a new guy, I thought- I had no idea-” She spluttered, dropping back down onto the sofa and looking torn between hysterical mirth and concerned anger. “You- you and fucking _Malfoy!?”_

“I-”

“_Fuck!_ What were you- I mean, just- just… _how?”_

“Well, it’s more or less what I said,” said Hermione in a very small voice, “He just um, kept turning up and being an arsehole and pushing my buttons, and-”

“But _how!?”_ wailed Ginny, interrupting her, “How did you get from that to- _your bra was hanging off the chair, Hermione_!”

“Oh my god…” whined Hermione, burying her head in her hands in humiliation.

“I- I’m not mad, I don’t think I’m mad. I just- this is a lot.”

“Tell me about it,” Hermione muttered into her hands, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me… You’re really not mad? I’m kind of mad at myself to be honest.”

“I’m- well I’m confused,” she said slowly, “I’m shocked, and I’m a little annoyed that you didn’t tell me, but I-I guess I understand why you didn’t,”

“Thanks, Ginny,” whispered Hermione, feeling utterly emotionally exhausted, but also strangely light, a sense of relief spreading though her that the secret was finally out in a tiny, manageable way. “I have no idea how I managed to not talk about it for all this time.”

“Neither do I,” said Ginny blankly, “I take back what I said about your poker face.”

“Thanks… I think.”

“I have _so_ many questions…”

“That’s- that’s fair.”

“I mean, I assume you’ve talked about- I assume he’s not-”

“Evil?”

“Well, I was going to say prejudiced, but yeah, sure,”

“I don’t think so,” she said softly, shaking her head, “I mean, he’s a prick, no doubt about that-”

“No argument here,”

“-But I honestly don’t think he believes any of that shit anymore.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose.”

“I suppose,” echoed Hermione.

“Does he still have the-”

“The mark? Yeah. He conceals it most of the time though I think.”

“You think? You haven’t talked about it? You’d think that sort of thing would come up…”

“I mean, kind of, but it was already awkward enough without interrogating him about it, so I didn’t push it.”

“Unbelievable,” said Ginny distantly, shaking her head.

“What?”

“I cannot believe I am having this conversation with you.”

“I didn’t _want_ to have this conversation, Ginny, you forced me!”

“Yeah, but that was when I thought you were just doing some bloke from work! I wouldn’t have wanted the sordid details if I had known it was that tosser! Merlin’s balls, Hermione…”

“Hah! How do you think I feel? This whole thing is- well, to say it’s strange would be a monumental understatement.”

“He- he _bullied_ you though, for _years_, to say nothing of well- everything else.”

“I know,” sighed Hermione, “I can’t explain it, but since the whole week of hell thing-”

“Wait, it’s been going on _that long?!”_

“Well, yes and no…”

“You know what, I’m not even going to ask.”

“I don’t know, Gin, it felt like something had changed, like the balance of power had shifted. I mean it’s not like he’s _nice_ to me exactly, come to that, I’m not nice to him either, but it’s… different.”

Ginny stared off into the middle distance as if Hermione had just told her that Harry had just run off to elope with a flobberworm, and she was trying to figure out how something so incomprehensibly stupid could actually happen. After a long pause, she finally took a deep breath and spoke, still facing forward with an expression like she had smelt something disgusting.

“It was… good?”

Hermione gaped at her for a moment.

“Ginny, you really don’t have to do this-”

“No, I forced you to talk, I started this.” she hung her head dramatically and sighed resignedly like she was on the way to the gallows, “I’ve made my bed, and I’ll lie in it.”

“But-”

“I saw him a few weeks ago, when I met Harry at work,” she said tightly, “He certainly has… improved… since school. I’ll give you that much.”

“Um- thanks?”

“Though I can’t speak to his personality-”

“Oh my god, Ginny, stop, I’m not marrying the guy, you don’t have to suddenly try to like him. Merlin, _I_ barely like him.”

Ginny turned to her, eyebrow raised, and she realised too late what she had said. ‘Barely like him’ was not the same as ‘do not like him’. When she didn’t say anything, Ginny sighed heavily and shut her eyes.

“I cannot believe I am asking this…” she muttered, “What happened afterwards?”

“What?”

“After the- ugh- after the wandwork.”

“Why are you so curious all of a sudden?” asked Hermione, her cheeks burning, “I thought you didn’t want details?”

“I don’t,” said Ginny, tossing her long hair haughtily, “Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment. Just humour me, yeah?”

“Fine, just- fine. We- we fell asleep for a bit, ordered a pizza, and then he left at like, nine thirty.”

“You ordered a pizza? Together?”

“We- I was hungry, it seemed rude to just kick him out…” said Hermione defensively. She could see the cogs turning in Ginny’s mind, she knew exactly what she was working her way towards, and she didn’t like it one bit. For whatever reason, Malfoy hadn’t wanted to leave, and worse than that, Hermione hadn’t wanted him to either.

Ginny gave Hermione a long, appraising look, shook her head for what seemed like the thousandth time, and sighed.

“I won’t tell anyone, Hermione.” She said flatly, “But on the condition that you sort this out. This situation is a bloody landmine waiting to go off, and I would prefer not to get caught in the ensuing shitstorm.”

“You think I should just end it?”

“Look, I’m not going to pretend this makes a single bit of sense to me, but I’m not in the habit of going around telling people who they can or cannot sleep with. If you want to end it, then end it. If you want to keep it up if, see where it goes, or just burn yourselves out, then do it, you’re both adults,”

Hermione sighed, dragging her hands over her cheeks tiredly, and apparently Ginny took pity on her, because she patted her head as if she were a small child.

“You know what, just talk to me another time, when I’ve had some time to get my head around this.” she said wearily.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, “The roommate’s gossip privilege is both a blessing and a curse. But whatever you do, for the love of god please just be bloody careful, will you? It’s going to be hard enough keeping my mouth shut about this without having to explain to Harry why he keeps finding another man’s socks around the place.”

“Deal,” said Hermione, cold dread settling over her as she confronted the idea of Harry finding out about this, but at the same time she felt strangely light, strangely giddy.

Ginny nodded stiffly, then stood up and stretched.

“Cup of tea, then?”

“Yeah, go on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ginny is too sharp for her own good :P


	20. Stuck in the Middle With You

Monday passed uneventfully, and without contact with Malfoy. So did Tuesday, and when Hermione arrived at work on Wednesday morning, she was no closer to reaching a conclusion about the best course of action where he was concerned than she had been a few days ago. Maybe Ginny was right, maybe they should just bite the bullet and have a damn conversation. What was she saying? Of course Ginny was right. All the shit that had happened over the last few months, they should have already had a thousand mature, rational conversations, but for some infuriating reason whenever she got in a room with him her rationality flew out of the window and she was left only with adolescent bickering and raging hormones. She didn’t see him as she crossed the atrium to the lifts, or on the way to her office, and when the door clicked shut behind her, she tried not to feel disappointed that he wasn’t somehow waiting for her there, though she would have been fairly impressed if he had actually managed to get past her wards.

This was good though, wasn’t it? This was what she had wanted. She was supposed to have had a quick, fun fling and then go back to normal, a nice, calm normal, where she and Malfoy would exchange a terse nod when passing each other in the hall, and never tell a soul about that time they lost their minds. Yes, this was good.

She sat down at her desk and started to go through the small pile of memos that had accumulated on her desk already. Most of the Ministry was closing for Christmas at the end of next week, and therefore everyone was experiencing the traditional rush before the long break. The general exception to this rule was the Auror Office and a few others in Magical Law Enforcement who pretty much worked 365 days a year, but Hermione knew several people, herself included, in the Department of Mysteries who had solid plans to pop back in every few days over the break to check on various projects which probably shouldn’t be left alone for too long.

She couldn’t help but wonder if she’d see Malfoy again before the break. It wasn’t unusual for them to go weeks without having any contact with each other after all, and they had very determinedly _not_ made plans when he’d left on Saturday, neither of them eager to think that far ahead, or address the implications of seeing each other again. The tacit agreement between them had been that they would finally break this damn tension between them and get on with their lives. Separately. _But then why would he kiss you again on the sofa?_ Asked a small but persistent voice in her mind. She pushed the voice away and tried to focus on the tedious work of replying to all the memos.

Half an hour later, she tapped the last one with her wand and watched with satisfaction as it fluttered off into the hall. Unfortunately, as if they had been waiting to take advantage of the open door, another two memos swept in, landing neatly in front of her, and she huffed in frustration, unfolding the first one with a little more ferocity than was necessary. It was from Wolfsson, her boss.

_Granger,_

_As you may or not be aware, Draco Malfoy has been liaising with us for some time for the Cursed Objects Departmen; it seems that he has something of a knack for dealing with unusual curses. In any case, it seems his supervisor wants to make him an official point of contact between our departments, and his probation officer in the Auror Office has signed off on it. I’ve no specific complaints about him, despite his reputation, so I’ve signed off on it too. _

_It won’t take effect until the new year, but I thought I would give you a bit of warning given your history during the war. Needless to say, given that your current project deals frequently with dark and cursed objects, I believe your contact with him will also be quite frequent. That said, if you have any issues with him, please inform me immediately. I can’t exactly reverse the decision at this point, but I won’t have him disrupting the work here. _

_Wolfsson_

Hermione stared, then swore. Then she re-read the note, slack-jawed with shock, and swore again. Numbly, she reached for the second memo, still staring at the first one. She pushed it aside and unfolded the next one. There were a few lines of smudged ink and messy crossings out that she couldn’t make out, then-

_Hear the good news, Granger?_

_Seems we’ll be seeing more of each other. _

_OK, this is stupid. I’m not having this conversation via memo. Tell the truth I can’t believe I’m having this conversation at all, but here we are. So are you going to be busy at lunch? I don’t care where, just as long as no one we know will be there. _

_DM_

Hermione read the message two more times, and then, as if in slow motion reached for her quill and smoothed out a fresh memo.

_I shouldn’t be busy_

She wrote, then stopped, quill poised over the paper, and a large drop of ink fell onto her words with a soft splat. She absentmindedly reached for her wand and vanished the ink, setting the quill down and staring at the now blank page.

Lunch? Really? Was she really about to go for lunch with him? It seemed so… normal. Going to lunch together seemed like something people who could hold a conversation for ten seconds without insulting each other did. But then maybe he wanted to end it, draw a line under it definitively so it wouldn’t be quite so weird between them, that would make sense, especially since they would be sort of working together now. Yes, that would be it.

She shook her head and muttered another short string of profanities. No. If he was going to be down here every ten seconds now, they would have to learn how to be in the same room without making a scene, and if he was going to end it she would much prefer it happened on her own turf. She exhaled sharply in frustration and picked up the quill again.

_Malfoy, if you’re going to work here you’ll have to learn to come to my office if you want to talk, just like everyone else. Or even better, actually arrange a meeting time. That is what normal, professional people do. _

Her hand itched to write more, but she just signed it and sent it off before she could talk herself out of it. She tried to concentrate on her work, but barely ten minutes had passed before yet another memo swooped in through the open door. She let out an annoyed breath and pointed her wand at the door; it slammed shut and a ‘do not disturb’ sign popped into existence on the door handle. Overkill maybe, but she’d take it off in a bit, she just didn’t need any more bloody interruptions right now. She turned back to her work, but the new memo sat there provocatively, daring her to read it.

“Ugh, fine.” She muttered, unfolding it and revealing curly, ostentatious handwriting.

_I, Draco Malfoy, humbly request a meeting with you, Hermione Granger of the Department of Mysteries, regarding my new assignment. I understand your time is very valuable, busy as you are looking contemplatively off into the distance, or whatever it is you people do down there, but if you could find ten minutes around lunchtime, you will have my undying gratitude. _

_P.S. I’ll have my own office soon, won’t that be fun?_

“Unbelievable,” she muttered. She flipped the paper over and scrawled on the back of his note:

_Fine. Midday, TEN MINUTES._

_P.S. I couldn’t care less about your office. _

_***_

Hermione’s morning crawled by, and by the time midday drew near, she found herself strangely restless, having to set her work aside every now and again to gather her thoughts, and when there was a knock at her door, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Come in,” she called, and the door swung open to reveal Malfoy, eyebrow raised with her ‘do not disturb’ sign hanging off one finger. Of course he would just assume that it didn’t apply to him. Insufferable little-

“Granger,” he said, stepping over the threshold and brandishing to sign with a suggestive smirk, “Should I put this back on?”

“No,” she sighed, “Just shut the door.”

He grinned and closed the door behind him before sitting down comfortably in the chair in front of her desk. She closed her book and clasped her hands in front of her, trying to project calm professionalism and nothing more.

“Official point of contact, then?” she said after a short silence.

“Yep, I mean it’s actually exactly the same job, but I get an office and a slightly better title, so there’s that.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

More silence.

“So-” he began.

“Ginny knows.”

“What?!” he yelped, his voice breaking a tiny bit. He cleared his throat. “Ginny knows what?”

“She _knows,_ Malfoy.”

“You’re fucking with me,”

“Nope.”

“How? You didn’t-”

“No I didn’t tell her, not voluntarily anyway. As if I wanted to have _that_ conversation. No, um, it seems she forgot something and came home to get it. Saw the living room like- well, like it was.”

“Shit.”

“Indeed.”

“So…”

“So what?”

“So why am I still alive and un-hexed? As I recall, the Weasley girl had quite the temper,”

“Day’s not over yet,” said Hermione with an evil grin, and he gave her a withering look.

“Really? Seriously Granger, this does not bode well for me, especially when I’ve come down here to-” he stopped speaking abruptly, and Hermione frowned. She was sure he had been about to say; ‘especially when I’ve come down here to dump you’, or words to that effect, and right now she couldn’t for the life of her tell how she felt about that.

“Ginny’s a good friend,” she said after a small pause, “She wouldn’t expose me like that, she won’t tell anyone. You’re… probably lucky she doesn’t work here though, I’ll give you that.”

“Mmm.” He hummed, looking unsatisfied.

“Don’t worry about Ginny, she’s fine, at least for the moment. So what do you want?”

“Huh?”

“What did you want to talk about?”

“You really have to ask?” he said quietly with a small smile. Hermione felt a strange twisting sensation in her chest.

“Well who knows with you?” she snapped, anxiety getting the best of her, “You clearly delight in stressing me out, so what is it? Go ahead, the floor’s yours.”

“Well if you’re going to be like that-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Malfoy-”

“Fine! After- well, after Saturday, I didn’t know what to do with myself.” He ran his hand through his hair and stared down at the desk between them, “I couldn’t stop thinking about- and then I get in this morning and find out I’ll be down here all the time for work now, and it just seemed like-like-”

“Like bad timing?” said Hermione softly, but Malfoy’s head snapped up and he gave her a strange look.

“What? No, I-I was going to say like it was too good to be true- why? Do you- uh-”

“I- well, I mean I don’t know what I- shit.” She stopped talking and chewed on her lip, replaying Ginny’s words in her head. Yes, it was about time for a proper conversation. Resolved, she pointed her wand at the door, and it locked with a soft click that seemed to echo significantly around the small room.

“Granger, what are-?”

“Tell me why you thought it was too good to be true.” She demanded, and clasped her hands on the desk again. She was sure she must look like she was giving him a job interview, but this was the way she was managing to keep her cool, so he’d have to deal with it. With a quick glance behind him at the door, Malfoy fixed her with a guarded, wary look, speaking slowly and carefully as if he was considering every word.

“Saturday was… good. Really good. I know we uh- I know we didn’t _talk_ about it per se, but I know we both knew it was a one time thing. But the thing is – I mean if you don’t think so then-”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Malfoy, just spit it out!”

He gave her a wry smile that conveyed in no uncertain terms that he was going to do this in his own dear sweet time or not at all, and she rolled her eyes and raised her hands in surrender, gesturing for him to continue. He just looked at her inquisitively for a few seconds, as if trying to figure something out, but then he smiled again, tilting his head ever so slightly as he spoke quietly, as if savouring every word.

“The thing is, Granger, is that it was too good not to do again.”

For several seconds there was utter silence in the office, broken only by the muted footsteps of someone entering the office next door. Hermione gaped at him for a moment before composing herself, letting out a small cough and looking determinedly down at her hands, her heart in her throat.

“Awfully presumptuous, don’t you think?” she managed.

“Actually, I don’t think so,” he said smoothly, not missing a beat, “You see, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Granger, but you’re not an amazingly good liar. You’re just a teeny bit too headstrong and self-righteous to hide your feelings properly, and I know a thing or two about hiding one’s feelings, believe me.”

Hermione let out a half-hearted scoff at that, but in truth she felt completely, unnervingly exposed. She wanted to shout at him, tell him he didn’t know shit, then shove him out of the door and lock it behind him and hope she never saw him again. Instead though, she just frowned slightly and concentrated on the grain of the desk.

“You don’t know me, Malfoy,” she whispered, but even as the words left her lips she wondered why she was saying it. Much as she hated, _hated_ to admit it, he was right. It was too good not to do again. She wanted him. She wanted to apparate away and lock themselves in a remote cottage together and not leave the bedroom for a week. She wanted _all _of him.

“I know,” he said softly, and it was so far from the response she had expected that Hermione’s mouth dropped open slightly, dumbstruck as he continued, “But I will say this; I know you a hell of a lot better than I did a few months ago, Hermione, and I-”

There was a jaunty tap on the door that seemed deafening in the tense atmosphere of the office. Hermione stared open-mouthed at Malfoy, who seemed to be just as dismayed by the interruption as she was, but after several seconds, she remembered herself.

“Um, I’m just wrapping up, can you wait two minutes?” she called.

“Yeah fine, it’s only me, Hermione,” came Harry’s muffled voice, “I’ll go sit in the tea room, yeah?”

“Sure, I’ll see you in a minute,” squeaked Hermione, unable to tear her eyes away from Malfoy’s, which had widened comically. They sat in silence, listening to Harry’s footsteps fade away down the corridor.

“Well now what the fuck am I supposed to do?” asked Malfoy after a long pause, sounding like he couldn’t decide whether to be nervous or angry.

“It’s fine, it’ll be fine,” she said, as much to herself as to him, “We’re going to have to work together. I’ll say I wanted to clear the air, try and have an actual working relationship. It’s fine.”

“And he’ll buy that?” he asked, sounding deeply sceptical.

“Why wouldn’t he? As far as he knows I hate you as much as everyone else.”

“Oh great. Thanks for that.”

“Shut up. Ok, so I’m going to open the door and shake your hand like we’re actual colleagues who respect each other, and you’re going to scurry on back to Cursed Objects _without_ picking a fight. Ok?”

“I won’t if he doesn’t…” muttered Malfoy.

“Jesus… the two of you are un-fucking-believable,”

“Fine, Granger, fine. But only because-”

“I don’t care why, just do it.”

“What if Weasley told him?”

“You think he would have waited patiently outside if he knew I was sleeping with you?”

“Fair point.”

“Yes. Now get out.”

She stood up and shooed him towards the door, but he stopped just shy of it and fixed her with a searching look, his jaw set in determination.

“Wait,”

“What?”

“Sleep_ing_ with, not slept with?”

Hermione could have sworn that her heart actually stopped for a moment, but she tried her best to look exasperated and mildly irritated.

“I- yes, fine. Fucking hell, Malfoy, it _was_ too good not to do again.” She stuttered, finally meeting his eyes and giving him a tiny, crooked grin, “I’ll-I’ll figure it out.”

He beamed, and she saw that it lifted his whole face, reaching all the way up to his eyes, and she couldn’t help but smile back. They stood like that for a few wonderful, quiet moments, then-

“Well in that case,” he reached out and opened the door, holding it open as he extended a hand towards her, his face settling back into a familiar mask of lazy amusement. “Granger, looking forward to working with you.”

She gave him her best sardonic eye roll and briskly shook his hand just as Harry rounded the corner into the corridor. The two men locked eyes and for a second Hermione was genuinely worried they would start a fist fight right there in the corridor, but Harry just stopped a few metres away from them, looking wary, and Malfoy just narrowed his eyes at him briefly before turning on his heel to stride off towards the lifts. Hermione finally exhaled.

“Hermione,” said Harry slowly, “What was Malfoy doing in your office?”

“You haven’t heard? He’s going to be officially liaising between the two departments,”

“Ugh, seriously? Who’s bright idea was it to promote that little-”

“Oh come off it, Harry.” She groaned wearily, “I know it’s Malfoy and all, but for once in his life he’s actually earned something for himself, can we just let him have it? I don’t have the energy anymore.”

“I’m not- fine.” Said Harry reluctantly, “I only came down to see if you wanted to get lunch,”

“Lunch sounds great, just let me lock my office,”

She did so and they walked back towards the lifts, thankfully, Malfoy had already left. All this subterfuge was going to give her a heart attack.

“But so, what _was_ he doing in your office?” asked Harry, as they stepped into the lift, apparently unable to help himself.

“Look, don’t hate me, but if we’re going to be actually working together, I thought we should – I don’t know- clear the air.”

“Really? You think that’s even possible?”

“Harry, don’t-”

“I don’t hate you Hermione,” he sighed, giving her a small, affectionate smile, “I just think you’re being a bit too charitable is all. I know we’re all supposed to be on the same side now, but I just- I really hate that guy.”

“I’d never have guessed.” Said Hermione flatly.

“Yeah , I know,” he said, rolling his eyes at her, “Live and let live, and all that, forgiveness, peace and love etcetera, but- but he’s just _such_ a dick, Hermione!”

She laughed at that. He wasn’t wrong, though privately she wondered if their ongoing rivalry had become a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe Malfoy wouldn’t be quite so obnoxious if Harry didn’t stare daggers at him every time they locked eyes, and vice versa. She wasn’t going to be the one to raise it though, that was a longer argument than she had the energy for at the moment, and ultimately it was something they’d have to figure out for themselves. They stepped out of the lift and both unconsciously wove their way through the crowds of the atrium towards the muggle café around the corner that had the best paninis.

“So what did Ginny have to talk to you about the other day?” he asked casually as they exited the building.

“What?”

“When she kicked me out of the house practically still in my towel to go and interrupt Ron and Susan, all because ‘_I just have to have a chat with Hermione’_.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I almost had to scourgify my eyes.”

“Sorry,”

“Nah, it’s fine, it’s just all very mysterious,”

_Of course he wants to know… she wasn’t exactly subtle. _

“Harry-”

“She only really gets like that when she wants gossip though, so-”

“Oh fine, you’re as bad as each other, you know that? Fine, your girlfriend is just a teeny bit too invested in my love life, or lack thereof, that’s all.”

“Thought so,” said Harry, giving her a shrewd smile, “So, are you seeing someone?”

Hermione exhaled heavily in frustration.

“I wouldn’t go that far. Suffice to say that it’s complicated,” she growled, glaring at him and hoping he got the message that this was not an acceptable topic for discussion.

“You know you can talk to me about this stuff, right?” he asked, his expression softening, “I know it was all a bit weird when it was Ron, but-”

Hermione held up a hand, stopping him mid sentence as she smiled to herself.

“Harry, I say this with all the love in the world; you are like my brother-”

“I know, but-”

“You are like my brother, with all the awkwardness and hang-ups that entails. Therefore I refuse to discuss my sex-life with you.”

“I thought it was your _love_ life,” he said with a cheeky grin.

“Harry!”

“Alright, alright, I’m shutting up.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, extremely glad that Harry wasn’t quite as good as his girlfriend at putting two and two together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative chapter title: 'Everything's coming up Malfoy!'


	21. Parameter Shift

Draco went about the rest of his day in a bit of a daze. Nearly three days had passed since Saturday, three days of feeling extremely uncomfortable about the uncertainty of the whole Granger situation, but at the same time feeling like it would be admitting defeat somehow to make the first move. He had been so shocked to find out about his (sort of) promotion that his mouth had flapped open like a fish for most of the conversation with his boss. The man had seemed annoyingly pleased with his reaction though, as if not expecting the promotion somehow made him more worthy of it, a concept which made no sense at all to Draco. He had shook his hand and told him that the details would be sorted out before the Christmas break, and Draco had simply dropped down into his chair, speechless. Now there was something that didn’t happen too often.

Not that he didn’t feel he deserved it. On the contrary, but given the current state of politics regarding former death-eaters in general, he had thought that the last thing anyone would want to do is give him even the semblance of power. He had a sneaking suspicion that part of the justification for the office was that if he was no longer in the cubicles, he couldn’t keep getting in arguments with people over some stupid remark or another he had made without thinking. He didn’t care though, he was well used to being disliked. Even at Hogwarts, when he’d had his loyal band of lackeys hanging on his every word, he was well aware that a large portion of the school wasn’t particularly fond of him. Back then he cared even less, just wrote it off as their own bad taste or wrote _them_ off as lesser people, but in adulthood he found that it still didn’t bother him. Maybe it was the extended isolation that had come as a result of several years under house arrest, but he found that even now he was perfectly happy in his own company, thank you very much.

As he had sat there still recovering from the surprise, he wondered if he should owl his parents, share the good news with someone at least, someone who didn’t actively dislike him. In the end he’d decided against it though, his parents were barely accepting of him getting a job at all. It wasn’t as if he needed the money, and they saw it as something of an indignity, especially given his lowly starting point, and he had felt that informing them that his superiors had deigned to give him a shoebox office next to the loos, as if it was wonderful news would be twisting the knife a bit. Even now he could see in his mind’s eye the face his mother would make; her lips would purse, her jaw would tense and she would give him that _look_, that disapproving look that always made him instantly regress into a sulky child. But there he was, sitting in his cubicle, overcome by the unfamiliar and mostly unwelcome desire to share a development in his life with another human being. So he had picked up his quill and a blank memo, and scribbled a note to the last person in the world he’d ever thought he’d share any part of his life with.

And that was just his morning, the meeting with Granger had turned out to be quite eventful too. It didn’t really occur to him until after he’d left, but as he stepped into the lift after their close call with Potter he suddenly realised that she had been expecting him to end it. He shook his head in disbelief and smiled to himself. Bollocks to that.

Of course, getting her to admit that she wanted to continue had been like getting blood from a stone, but at this point he wouldn’t have expected anything less from her. Stubborn to her very core, that one, and skittish as a unicorn to boot. Nonetheless, in the end he had emerged victorious, and despite Potter’s interruption and the disturbing news that the Weasley girl had found out about the two of them, he found himself feeling lighter than he had in weeks. Over-thinking, he’d discovered, was the enemy of getting things done, and that went doubly for the situation with himself and Granger. Sometimes he could swear that he could _see_ the thoughts flashing by behind her eyes, each and every one threatening to put a swift end to their strange little fling before he got a chance to fuck her again, which would be nothing less than a goddamn tragedy. He thought so at least. She must have at least partly agreed with him, because when he’d pressed her, desperate to get some kind of definitive answer before he was banished back to the sixth floor, she’d stared at him, those sharp, questioning eyes of hers wide with surprise for a split second before she’d finally huffed and scowled in a fairly mediocre imitation of actual annoyance and given in.

‘I’ll figure it out’, that’s what she said, with a tiny, secretive smile that he was pretty sure was only for when she was doing something she knew she shouldn’t be. The ‘something’ in this case being him. With that knowledge running around his head, he was uncharacteristically easygoing for the rest of the day, even managing not to rise to several stupid remarks made by his cohorts. Thankfully, no one questioned his good mood, he supposed people just put it down to his promotion and left it at that, but he knew better. When he crossed the atrium that evening, keeping half an eye out in case she happened to be leaving at the same time, he couldn’t help but think of that smile. She would press her lips tight together as if she was trying to keep it to herself, but her eyes practically shone with excitement, gazing up at him from under those dark eyelashes as if she was sharing some tantalising secret with him. He supposed she was, in a way.

He briefly scolded himself for being so soppy. How long could they really keep this up for, anyway? It wasn’t as if they were going to ride off into the sunset together, the thought of the inevitable fallout of them publically actually –ugh- _dating_ still left a cold lump of horror in his gut. Still, he had to admit that the idea of going back to holding each other coldly at arm’s length was deeply unappealing, at least it was at the moment. Maybe in time they would both grow to find each other as unbearable as they had before all this started, but Draco had the distinct feeling that in this particular case, the only way out was through. He wondered if she had come to the same conclusion.

The next day, he went to work with a renewed sense of purpose. It was partly the promotion, the sense that all this work hadn’t been for nothing, and after all the humiliating rehabilitation and probation meetings, here was evidence that he hadn’t been banging his head against a brick wall after all. Still, he couldn’t deny that part of the reason for his continuing good mood was well, her. He only half-concentrated on his work, distracted by planning his next move with Granger. He really liked that secret little smile of hers, but he’d be lying if he said that he enjoyed it more than the look on her face when she was ten seconds away from slapping him. It was particularly enjoyable since he now knew that she probably wouldn’t actually slap him, but instead just launch herself at him, grab his hair and stick her tongue down his throat. The best part was that he barely even had to do anything to elicit this reaction in her; apparently his personality alone was quite enough to enrage her. Well, he certainly wasn’t complaining.

Finally, his restlessness got the better of him and he got up, said he was going to get a breath of fresh air (well, as fresh as you could get in central London) and made his way down to the Department of Mysteries.

***

It was mid-morning on Thursday, and Hermione was sitting at her desk reading and re-reading a report on the theoretical magic behind penseives. She didn’t know whether it was all the latest excitement with Malfoy, or if she was just coming down with something, or even if the report really was just incomprehensible, but she was having a great deal of difficulty trying to get her head around it.

“That can’t be right,” Hermione muttered to herself, “Maybe it’s just that-”

“Talking to yourself now, Granger?”

She smiled but didn’t look up.

“Yes, it’s the only way I can be sure of intelligent conversation.”

“Very funny.” He said, and as she flicked her eyes up to meet his she saw that he was wearing his usual amused smirk.

“It’s from- nevermind. Anyway, there’s no need to sound so surprised.”

“Deepest apologies,” he said in mock contrition, giving her an elaborate bow, and she finally stopped writing notes to give him a dry look.

“Can I help you, Malfoy?”

“Nope, just passing through,” he replied, his grin widening.

“Of course you are.” 

“Can you blame me?” he purred, taking a step into the office after quickly checking the hallway behind him was empty.

“I’m busy, Malfoy.” She said lightly, “And I don’t have time for whatever this is.” She waved her hand vaguely in his direction as she went back to her work. “Run along now.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup.”

“But-”

“Get out please.” She said in a singsong voice.

He muttered a string of what she assumed were a selection of varied and creative swearwords under his breath and scowled at her, clearly annoyed that this interaction hadn’t gone to plan. She smiled back sweetly, deeply satisfied that she had apparently thrown him off. He gave her a resigned look and turned around to leave. She waited until he had one foot out the door, then called back to him.

“I should be able to spare a few minutes at the end of the day if there’s something you want to discuss.”

He stopped stock still in the doorway for a second, then turned back to her, looking profoundly unimpressed.

“Oh, wonderful,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “A few minutes, what a treat. I suppose I should count myself lucky you’d deign to fit me in at all.”

“You _are _lucky I can fit you in,” she said, bristling slightly.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Fine, I’ll be back this evening.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

She looked up briefly from her work to meet his eyes, and for that split second it took every ounce of self control she had not to just pounce on him. Their eye contact lingered a tiny bit longer than was necessary, until he gave her a lightning fast wink, turned on his heel and finally strode out of her office.

Hermione rolled her eyes again for good measure. Though they had barely said two words to each other since their interrupted conversation the other day, she was feeling more and more unnerved by the idea of the two of them. She was comfortable in her decision to continue whatever it was they were doing, but her mind was having more trouble than she anticipated accepting it. She tried not to over-think it, but it was hard, given that over-thinking was more or less her default state of being.

Five o’clock came and went, and Hermione began to wonder if he was just messing with her in some way to get back at her for being so snippy earlier, but at nearly six, when she was just about to pack up and leave for the day, he finally appeared. She put her book down slowly and crossed her arms, and they spent a few mildly uncomfortable seconds just watching each other.

“Evening, Granger,” he said as he leant against the doorframe, arms folded causally.

“Malfoy,”

“I’m here for that ‘few minutes’ you promised me,”

“I didn’t _promise_ anything,” she said, but he was already shutting the door behind him, and she couldn’t help but return his shrewd grin, feeling that increasingly familiar little thrill of excitement that emerged when she knew she was about to misbehave.

He didn’t say another word, just crossed the office, stepped neatly around her desk and reached down to cup her face in his hands. She rose to meet him almost unconsciously, and when their lips met it was like her whole body sighed in relief. She wound her hands around his neck, burying one in his hair as he turned her slightly so that she was half-sitting on the edge of her desk. She let out a muffled squeak as her foot caught on one of the wheels of her office chair and she almost lost her balance, but he caught her, holding her where she was with his weight against her, his hands firmly on her waist.

The kiss was slow, almost tentative, lips and hands gently caressing each other as if they suddenly had all the time in the world. His tongue teased at her parted lips, and she hummed in satisfaction, pulling him closer by his lapel. After a few minutes they finally pulled apart, each a little short of breath. He stepped away silently and sat next to her on the desk.

“I have been wanting to do that _all day._” He sighed, giving her a sideways look. Hermione opened her mouth, then shut it again, finding that she actually wasn’t really sure how to respond to that. A few seconds went by, and it appeared that Malfoy was perfectly happy to sit in silence, at least for now, but Hermione shifted anxiously. It felt like so much needed to be said, yet she couldn’t pinpoint anything specific.

“So, um, we should probably set some ground rules?” she said tentatively, and he let out a deep chuckle next to her. She scowled and gave him a little shove with her shoulder, “What?” she demanded.

“Nothing really,” he said with a small smile, “It’s just that asking to set up rules after _that_ kiss- well, let’s just say it’s very ‘you’.”

“Oh shut up,” she said, but for once there wasn’t any acid in her words.

“Fine, ground rules it is,” he said, looking highly entertained, “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, for starters you can’t keep just wandering down here for no reason, at least have the courtesy to make up a work-related excuse, for discretion’s sake.”

“I think I can manage that,”

“Good. Also, at no point will we actually be having sex at work.”

“What?” his face fell comically, and she stared at him in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious, that is such a terrible, awful idea,”

“So is_ all_ of this,” he muttered.

“Yeah, but everything _before_ was already reckless and stupid, that would be just- just no.”

“Urgh, fine.” He said sulkily. “Everyone else does it though…”

“I don’t care what everyone else is doing.” She sniffed, folding her arms firmly. She’d rather not think about how many secret, steamy workplace romances were playing out at any one time in this building, she was distracted enough as it was with her own.

“In that case, you’re going to have to get your head around the fact that I have a house-elf, because I can’t be bothered to wait until Weasley just happens to be out. I have a perfectly good house which I am lucky enough to have all to myself, and we should make the most of it.”

“I-fine. But I’d prefer you- you know, make use of her- as little as possible around me. Also, the correct term is; you _employ_ a house-elf.”

“Fine. I half-expected you to demand to see her freedom documentation.”

“Well, if you happen to have them handy…” she said lightly, and he laughed, though she was only half-joking.

“I’m sure they’re around somewhere. Probably in the same drawer as _my_ freedom documentation, how’s that for irony?” he said with a slightly bitter laugh.

“Well, yeah. Especially since I probably _signed_ several of those documents.”

“Fuck, yeah, I had almost forgotten,”

“Mhmm,”

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and they just shifted a tad awkwardly on the desk. Malfoy uncrossed and then re-crossed his ankles, and Hermione tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

“Um, general secrecy I suppose, as a rule?” she said quietly.

“Goes without saying.”

“I thought I’d say it anyway, just in case.”

“Fair enough.”

“Do you… do you um, have anything? Any rules, I mean?”

“I uh, I don’t know,” he said, looking a little uncomfortable, “I hadn’t really thought about it,”

“It’s ok-”

“I mean, I hate to be the one that brings it up, but what about if-when it- I mean, when one of us wants to end it?”

“Oh, um, well I suppose we just try to be honest with each other? God knows we’ve never had a problem with that before…”

“But then what? Just shake hands and move on like nothing ever happened?”

“Well, yeah? I mean that was what the plan was before, wasn’t it?”

“I suppose so, it just seems… simplistic.”

“A bit, yeah,” she conceded with a small shrug, “But for now I don’t have a better idea. Do you?”

“Well, no,”

“It’ll have to do then,” she sighed. “Unless you’d rather I just obliviate you? Certainly less hassle that way,”

“Very funny, Granger,” he said with a wry smile.

“I thought so.”

They sat for a moment in silence. Neither of them had moved from their spot next to each other on the desk, and after a bit, she felt his fingers brush the side of her hand, and when she turned back to him, she found him looking at her with such intensity that she was momentarily taken aback.

“What?” she asked, but he said nothing, just quirked an eyebrow at her before bending down once again to claim her lips with his. The kiss was slow, languid, but it was over far too quickly, and he pulled back again, still perching next to her on the desk.

“Terribly sorry,” he said lightly, sounding for all the world as if he had just realised he had accidentally drank tea from her cup instead of his own. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

“You- you are-” she stammered, caught between irritation at his nonchalance and breathless anticipation.

“Yes?” he asked with a wolfish grin.

“I’ve got to go, Malfoy.”

“So soon?”

“It’s past six,”

“Yes but-”

“Just, just not now, ok?” she said, finally standing up from the desk and stepping away. He sighed long-sufferingly, even having the audacity to pout at her.

“Well, I won’t deny I’m disappointed,”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Six o’clock again back here?”

“Fine, fine.”

“Sounds delightful,” he purred, leaning close enough that she could see every fleck of silver in his grey eyes, then he just stepped back from her, gave her a wide smile and left her office, leaving her alone, annoyed and flustered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This still feels like filler to me, but I felt like it had been a while since I had written Draco and I wanted to put a small bit in before the next chapter, which hopefully will have a bit more meat to it. Still feel like I have no idea what i'm doing though, so thanks for sticking with me! Love you all!


	22. All Work And No Play...

Buoyed by the promise of another night of angry, dirty fun, Hermione was in an excellent mood when she arrived at work the next day. She had told Ginny that she was snowed under with work and that she shouldn’t wait up, and to her credit, Ginny’s reaction was only mildly sceptical, and she didn’t press the issue even if she was suspicious. When the lift doors closed, Hermione allowed herself a small smile, then squashed it quickly when she stepped out into the dark tiled hallway of the Department of Mysteries. Her good mood almost lasted all the way to her office, but just as she reached out to her door handle, she was waylaid by a colleague asking for her help on a malfunctioning experiment they had set up together last month.

Nearly two hours later she finally entered her office. The experiment had encountered an unforeseen issue with the wards here, which were of a slightly different nature to the rest of the building, and it had taken four of them putting their heads together for all that time to sort it out. The Department of Mysteries tended to attract a certain personality type, and therefore all four of them were particularly irritable and overly defensive about the fact that none of them had seen this coming. Hermione had earned as much over-confidence as any of them, but she at least liked to think that that confidence hadn’t quite moved so far as to be considered arrogance yet, and so when she finally dropped down heavily into her office chair, what she felt mostly was just exhaustion and a bit of annoyance at herself. She let out a quiet groan and rubbed her eyes, immediately scolding herself for forgetting yet again that she was wearing makeup, not much, but she’d rather not look like a panda if she could help it. She glanced quickly at her reflection in the glass door of her bookcase and was relieved to see that she looked more or less the same as she’d looked upon leaving this morning, if a little more tired, even though it wasn’t even eleven yet. She turned her attention to her desk, and her heart sank to see that there was a small pile of memos stacked neatly in the middle of it, arranged on top of each other in a pyramid shape. She scowled and unceremoniously plucked the top one from its perch. 

It was a little past lunchtime by the time that Hermione finished addressing all of the many and varied issues that the memos brought up, and now her mood had well and truly soured. Maybe she would just take a long lunch, it was Friday after all and she certainly felt like she had done a proper morning’s work-

There was a sharp tap on her office door and her heart sank once again.

“Come in,” she sighed.

It was Susan. Evidently she and Ron had had a bit of a tiff, and she wanted to have a little vent to someone who understood, and Hermione understood. Oh yes, she understood. So she listened politely, chuckling and agreeing with Susan as she ranted. She had to admit, Ron was far easier to get along with when he wasn’t her boyfriend, but she kept that thought to herself and just patted Susan’s shoulder in comfort, nodding knowingly. Susan left eventually, thanking Hermione profusely and apologising again and again for bothering her for something so silly. Hermione waved her concerns away and told her she could come down for a chat any time. The sentiment was sincere, but when she finally shut the door behind Susan, Hermione fervently hoped that ‘any time’ wasn’t any time soon.

Feeling that she should just get the hell out of here before yet another interruption prevented her from getting lunch, she quickly gathered up her things, but alas, as soon as she opened the door, another memo greeted her.

“I should have bloody apparated…” she muttered, snatching the thing out of the air and unfolding it savagely. Another addendum from the Wizengamot to the Werewolf Bill she had been working on all those months ago. At this point she’d be surprised if the damn thing passed before she was retired. She groaned again and retreated back into her office, slamming the door behind her.

The rest of the day passed in much the same fashion, endless interruptions and tedious, yet still stressful work dragging on and on. Around three, a memo fluttered in from the Cursed Objects Department.

_Work never ends. Might not be able to make six, will let you know._

_DM_

She blinked. Despite her earlier excitement, in the flurry of activity and annoyance that had been her day so far, she had forgotten all about their little rendezvous. Nice of him to let her know though. She flipped it over and scrawled her reply on the back.

_Me too. Will let you know._

He must have been snowed under as well, because she didn’t hear again from him until half five.

_Be lucky to get out of here before midnight at this rate, hundreds of reports of cursed tinsel trying to strangle people, muggles too. Whole department is busy. _

She sighed and grabbed another memo, rubbing her temple as she wrote.

_Me too. This place is too mysterious for its own good. Reschedule? _

Nearly an hour until his response, and she almost didn’t notice it, engrossed as she was in the report she was writing.

_Slowing down now. You still here?_

She scowled.

_You’re slowing down, or the work’s slowing down? Yes I’m still here, probably will be for some time._

More time passed, and Hermione began to long for a hot, soothing bath. Her neck and shoulders were killing her, and her brain felt like soup. She was getting to the point where she had to re-read every line a few times for the information to actually reach her brain, and she knew she should stop soon. She glanced wearily up at the clock and was shocked to see that it was nearly eight. She groaned, throwing her head back in frustration and sending little bolts of pain down her spine. Tentatively, she stretched her neck, testing the range of movement until her muscles felt a little less terrible. Definitely time to go. She wondered vaguely if Malfoy was still here, she hadn’t heard back from him, so it was probably safe to assume that he was either still working away on the sixth floor or he had long ago apparated home, probably to another spectacular spread from Pattie. Her stomach growled, and for a split second she was horribly envious of Malfoy, being able to just come home to find a huge, magnificent dinner all made and ready to eat sitting invitingly in front of him. She shook her head distractedly, mentally scolded herself for briefly liking the idea of employing a house-elf and began to gather up her things.

_TAP TAP_

Hermione froze, staring at the door. _No… _she thought, _No… what now? What could anyone possibly want NOW?_ For a moment she seriously considered hiding behind the desk and just pretending she had accidentally left the lights on in her office when she had left hours ago, or even just disapparating, leaving work’s problems at work, but before she could make a decision, there was another tap, a little quieter this time.

“Granger, you in there?” came Malfoy’s muffled, tired voice, a thread of uncertainty marring his usually smooth tone.

“Malfoy?”

He opened the door a crack and poked his head around tentatively.

“Just come in,” she said wearily, beckoning with one hand and pinching the bridge of her nose with the other.

She watched him as he closed the door behind him, noting the loose tie, rolled up sleeves and messy bundle of robes under his arm. It seemed that his day had been as stressful as hers. She thought she could see dark circles under his eyes, and it looked like for once he hadn’t intended for his hair to look that messy.

“Heading off?” he asked flatly, nodding to her half-packed bag.

“Uh, yeah, wasn’t sure if you were even still here.”

“Mentally, I’m not sure I am.” He said, giving her a wry smile before stifling a yawn.

“Tell me about it,” she chuckled, forcing herself to smile, though her face muscles protested even this small effort, “I thought today would never end.”

Then he gave her a look that was so salacious and suggestive that for a second she forgot all about her aching shoulders and lagging brain.

“Day’s not over yet,” he murmured. “I for one could use a bit of unwinding,”

“Malfoy, my idea of unwinding is sinking happily into a bubble bath with a glass of wine laced with Draught of Peace, not bloody sniping at each other until… that.” Even as she said this though, something inside her awoke, coiling restlessly in her stomach, not to be ignored.

“Well personally, I don’t see why you can’t do both,” he said, his voice low and velvety as he stood up and reached out to brush her hair over her shoulder. “I have some _nauseatingly _expensive wine back home, you know,”

“In general, Malfoy, describing things as ‘nauseating’ is not conducive to a successful seduction.” She said, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow at him. He chuckled throatily.

“Care to show me what a successful seduction _does _look like then, Granger?”

Well. She walked right into that one, didn’t she? Nothing to be done but return fire. She took a deep breath and tried to put herself in a mindset far, far away from memos and experiments and policy amendments. She’d never actually had to seduce him before, there had always been quite enough sexual tension to keep them going on that front, but now she dragged her eyes over him, pausing on his hands and exposed forearms before finally meeting his gaze.

“Draco Malfoy,” she whispered, putting her hands on her hips and tilting her head so that her hair fell back over her shoulder, “Are you asking me to _seduce_ you?”

Not missing a beat, he leant close to her again, brushing his knuckles gently down her arm.

“And what if I was?” he husked, his lips a hairs breadth from hers.

“Don’t answer a question with a question,” she said automatically.

“Oh god, please don’t tell me that grammar lessons are part of your seduction technique…”

“Why, is acting like a moron part of yours?” she retorted, glaring at him as her cheeks heated.

“Wow, well, consider me seduced.” He said sarcastically, folding his arms and mirroring her glare.

“Oh, _fuck you_.” She snapped shoving him in the shoulder. She had mostly meant it to be a gentle push, but he obviously wasn’t expecting it, and for a moment the expression on his face was naked shock.

“Fuck _you_.” He growled. A tense moment passed, but something finally snapped between them, just like it always did, and they suddenly surged together.

Her hand gripped his tie, and his tongue plunged between her lips, anchoring his hand in her hair and tugging sharply. She hissed at the sudden pain and shoved him away, hard, then changed her mind and yanked him back to her by the tie, sinking her teeth into his neck and eliciting a loud groan from him.

“Back to mine then?” he gasped, pulling her off his neck by the hair and staring into her eyes, his breath fast and shallow.

“Sure, fine. Yes.” She managed. She wished she could have managed more than a string of single syllable words, but he just gave her a quick grin, and then she felt the lurching tug of apparition again, his arms tight around her as they whirled through the formless ether.

When they reappeared, they wobbled for a moment, standing a little too close to be stable. Hermione swayed in her high heels, and tried to move her leg to steady herself, but only caught her heel on the edge of a rug. They clutched frantically at each other for a few desperate seconds to try and keep their balance, but to no avail. With a squawk, they toppled over in a tangle of limbs, crashing down onto the rug.

“Argh- fuck!”

“Fuck- Malfoy, get off my leg!”

“I’m trying-just-”

“Ow- shit, you’re on my hair!”

They finally managed to extricate themselves and rolled away from each other, chests heaving as they lay side by side on Malfoy’s expensive Persian rug. Hermione chanced a sideways look at him just as he turned to do the same, and when their eyes met it was like a dam burst, and suddenly they were both laughing. Hermione put her hand over her eyes as her shoulders shook with mirth, and she could hear Malfoy’s deep chuckle next to her, interspersed every few breaths with rather undignified little snorts. She realised with a shock that she had never actually heard him laugh, _really _laugh, at least not when it wasn’t at someone else’s expense, and she moved her hand so that she could look at him for a moment. Sheer curiosity, she told herself, that was all.

He was staring up at the ceiling as he laughed, but he turned as she looked at him, his shrewd, angular features infused with new life for one glorious moment, before something in her expression gave him pause. He seemed to wrestle his face under control, though the mirth hadn’t quite left his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbow. She let out a small giggle, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“What?” he demanded. His tone was imperious, but he wasn’t quite managing to keep a straight face.

“Nothing, it’s just- it’s _funny_!” she said gleefully, unable to suppress another giggle.

“It’s not- oh fine. It’s funny,” he conceded, trying and failing to look grumpy.

“Yes it is,”

“Fuck, though, I almost broke my neck,” he said, rolling his shoulder with a pained expression on his face and producing several loud clicks.

“My whole body hurts.” Said Hermione matter-of-factly, letting her head fall back onto the floor and staring up at the ceiling.

“This was not what I had in mind.”

“Yeah well, it’s a far cry from my nice, relaxing bubble bath too.”

“True enough,” he chuckled, then rolled back onto his side and inched a bit closer to her, lowering his voice, “Night’s still not over though,”

“No it’s not, I’ve still got time to get the hell out of here and-”

“Ouch. Come on Granger, you must have come here for a reason,”

He tentatively reached out and rested his hand on her hip, and when she didn’t object, he pulled her gently over to him. Slowly, he leant over her, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. It tickled as it brushed the bare skin of her neck, and he trailed a single finger down from her temple, behind her ear and down her neck, letting his nails scrape against her skin just a tiny bit. Hermione’s heart thudded in her chest as he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. She licked her lips unconsciously.

“You’re not actually going to run me a bath though,” she said, and she had meant it to be a statement, but her voice went up at the end, making it sound like a question. He laughed, and it was a rich, comfortable sound.

“If I did, would you let me watch you?” he asked with a mischievous grin

“Ugh, no, don’t be gross.”

“Then no, I’m not running you a bath.”

“Oh, for god’s sake, I didn’t even _want_ you to-”

“Relax, Granger, I know. I was joking- mostly. Anyway, I confess I had rather more ah, energetic plans for this evening.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” she muttered, thinking of the crick in her neck and the bruise on her hip where they had fallen.

“Compromise?” he asked with a small smile, “Care for a nauseatingly expensive glass of wine?”

She smiled back, despite her aching muscles.

“Sure.” She said.

As they got up from the floor, both of them huffing and groaning as if they were eighty, it occurred to Hermione that as far as this seduction business went, they were probably both as awful as each other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I am living vicariously by writing two people who actually still want to do anything at all after a long day at work. 
> 
> Also, I have been super insecure about my writing recently, this last month hasn't been easy for a lot of reasons, but all of your lovely comments have been such a fantastic boost to my mood (and ego :p) so thank you all! I'm so happy so many people are enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it :)


	23. Oenology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutty chapter ahead!

Hermione wasn’t much of a wine connoisseur. She liked wine, and she at least _thought_ that she could tell a cheap bottle of plonk from something decent, but once the discussion turned to bouquets, full bodies and supple mouth-feel, and other strangely sexual terms preferred by wine experts, she tended to switch off. The glass in her hand was enormous, no doubt designed so one could properly appreciate the wine’s decadent aroma and shapely legs. Or something. She looked down into the liquid, taking a tentative sniff for appearances more than anything else.

“Worried I poisoned it?” asked Malfoy, sounding amused, apparently sensing her hesitation.

“Should I be?” she retorted, feeling oddly defensive.

He just gave her a withering look and took a large gulp from his own glass. She didn’t know whether it was out of exasperation with her or a desire to demonstrate that it was not in fact, poisoned, but it calmed her slightly, and she finally took a sip. She thought she might look up to find him looking at her expectantly, waiting for her tasting notes, but he just gazed into the fire, swirling the deep burgundy liquid around his glass absentmindedly. Satisfied that she wasn’t being observed, Hermione followed suit and took a large gulp. She may not have been a connoisseur, but she could say with some certainty that she liked this wine, and that was good enough for her. A few minutes passed in silence, the two of them drinking and enjoying the merry crackle of the fire, and Hermione felt the stress of the day begin to melt away. She missed having a proper fireplace, not that she thought she’d ever want one in their tiny flat, the central heating was perfectly fit for purpose, but there was something about a real fire that made her feel at home. It reminded her of chilly winters in Gryffindor Tower, wrapping presents with her friends or curling up with a book in one of the overstuffed armchairs. Strange that this of all places should evoke such pleasant nostalgia.

Malfoy’s sitting room was opulently furnished in rich greens and dark leather, thick, expensive looking rugs covering the elegant parquet floor, but like his cubicle at work, it was devoid of personal touches, and the walls were bare except for the occasional dignified, elaborately framed painting. She found herself watching one the paintings, it was a beautiful, if rather forbidding landscape, and as she watched the clouds shifted and the grass shimmered in an invisible wind. She suddenly wondered bizarrely if the sofa was made from cow leather, or something more exotic and magical, like dragon hide or something. Trust Malfoy to have a sofa made out of a bloody dragon.

“You alright there, Granger?” He said suddenly, jerking her out of her reverie.

“Huh? Oh, yes, I’m fine.”

“I’ve always hated that painting.” He said, nodding at it. “Makes the place feel cold, don’t you think?”

“Why do you still have it up then?”

“More trouble than it’s worth to take it down, believe me,” he muttered sourly. He caught her confused expression and sighed resignedly, shrugging. “Mother picked it.”

“Oh,”

Hermione looked around the room, wondering how much more of this place was Narcissa’s work. The thought made her uneasy, but if Malfoy noticed he didn’t say anything, just sighed again and settled back into the sofa, cradling his wine glass in his lap. The flickering firelight made his skin a few shades warmer than his usual ghostly pallor, and Hermione was suddenly uncomfortably reminded of how much he resembled his parents. She supposed she should just be grateful there weren’t any family portraits up. Over the last several months she had encountered and dealt with many, many awkward situations with him, but she felt that today in particular she simply didn’t have the mental fortitude to manage facing his parents, even in portrait form. She shuddered slightly at the thought and drained her glass.

“What would you put up there then?” she asked after a small pause, inclining her empty glass towards the offending painting.

“Merlin, I don’t know,” he said, seeming grateful for the change of subject, “I’m not really the artistic type.” She sniggered at that.

“Doesn’t have to be artistic,” she said with a grin, “You could put a quidditch poster or a raunchy calendar up there if you wanted, it’s your house.”

“Hah! Yes, I’m sure that would go down wonderfully.”

“Oh, how I would dearly love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation,” she said dreamily, and he barked out another laugh, then nodded at her wineglass.

“Another glass?”

“Um, sure. Why not.”

He fetched the crystal decanter from the table he’d left it on earlier and generously filled both of their glasses, but instead of returning to his armchair, he sat down next to her on the sofa, setting the glasses down on the coffee table in front of them. His knee brushed hers, and he reached out like he had done earlier to sweep her hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck. She shivered, and Malfoy smiled widely beside her, clearly pleased by her reaction.

“How goes the unwinding, Granger?” he asked, his breath tickling her neck.

Hermione resisted the urge to huff irritably and tell him that the unwinding would be going much faster if he had let her drink that second glass of wine, and instead just hummed thoughtfully, shifting slightly so that she was almost facing him. She was sick of him being all smooth and unflappable while she just got more and more flustered anyway.

“I think it’s going rather well actually,” she murmured.

“Now that _is_ good news,” he husked, trailing his fingertips down her arm.

She said nothing, just reached out and pulled him to her, finally pressing her lips to his. The kiss was soft and slow at first, but when he groaned and deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue against hers, their movements became more urgent. He tasted of the wine they had been drinking, rich and ever so slightly peppery, and as they kissed he stroked his hand down from her hip to her knee, only hesitating for a moment before he slipped under her skirt, resting just above her knee. Even through her clothes his touch was like fire, and the feeling of his warm hand on her bare leg was enough to make her let out an embarrassingly needy whine, unconsciously shifting her hips to get closer to him. The motion caused his hand to shift further up her leg and he broke the kiss, his chest heaving as he looked at her hungrily.

“Damn it, Granger,” he muttered, and for a second she wondered if she had done something wrong, but her worries evaporated when he tightened his grip on her thigh and moved his other hand to tilt her jaw away from him so that he had better access to her neck. He nipped at her jaw, pausing to take her earlobe between his teeth as he slid his hand another inch up her leg. Her breathing hitched as he began to gently rub the inside of her thigh with his thumb, and she couldn’t help but clench her hand in his hair, eliciting a low moan from him.

“Hang, on, wait,” she gasped.

“What?” he mumbled, meeting her gaze as if he had just been rudely awoken from a very pleasant dream.

“I- this is embarrassing, but-”

“What is it?” he asked, sounding like he was really trying not to sound impatient but not quite managing it.

“I don’t know if-if you’ve got a family portrait anywhere, but-”

He cut her off with an irritable sigh and a deeply unimpressed look.

“I do not have a family portrait anywhere.” He said flatly, “And I’ll forgive you for thinking I’m that pretentious given that I did tell you that my mother helped decorate this place.”

“How generous of you,” she muttered, but his hand was already back on her leg, “Also, you _are _that pretentious.”

“You know, you say all these terribly rude things to me, but then you make those delightful noises when I touch you, it’s all very confusing,” he husked, not looking in the least bit confused.

“Oh shut up,”

“Make me,”

She gave him her best scathing glare but he only smirked in response, and just like that, her annoyance morphed formlessly into arousal, all-consuming and impossible to ignore. She lunged, hoping to push him back into the sofa, but this time he didn’t budge, just leant a little towards her and used her own momentum against her to press her into the corner of the sofa. His lips crashed to hers, all furious urgency and breathless desire. Without ceremony, he wrenched her skirt up, hiking it up so that one side bunched around her hip and he could run his hand up her leg unimpeded.

“Fuck,” he growled against her mouth, and she could only gasp as he dragged his hand all the way up the inside her thigh until it brushed tantalisingly against her underwear.

Hermione was suddenly extremely glad that she had bothered to actually think about what she was going to wear today. She couldn’t look too spectacular, or Ginny would have clocked her in a second when she’d left this morning, but she had spent a little while deciding on her underwear, just in case. She had eventually settled on a black matching set, a little lace, but nothing overly racy, and at this particular moment she was pretty happy with her choice, because Malfoy had pulled away from the kiss to look at her, and the expression on his face was almost unfathomable. Almost.

He swore under his breath and kissed her again, grinding his erection against her leg as he again dragged his fingers over her centre. She bucked into his hand, curling her fingers around his shirt, slipping them between the gaps in the buttons so that her knuckles grazed his bare chest. She leant up to kiss his neck, scraping her teeth over the mark that was already visible from where she had bitten him earlier, and his hands flew to his collar, hurriedly unbuttoning his shirt and moving to pull his loosened tie over his head, but she stopped him.

“Leave the tie, Malfoy,” she growled, and the look of pure shock and astonishment on his face was delicious. Apparently shocked into silence, he let go of his tie without a word, and she nodded approvingly.

He kept unbuttoning his shirt, fingers clumsy in his haste, and when it finally fell open she abandoned his neck to run her tongue over a thin scar that ran down from his left collarbone. He let out a ragged sound and shuddered, reaching down between them to push her skirt up further, snaking his hand around her hips to grab her arse, pulling her abruptly towards him so that now she was half-lying on the sofa. She moved to kick off her heels, but he grabbed her thigh and shook his head.

“Ah, ah, leave the heels, Granger,” he said, smiling wolfishly.

Another time she might have rolled her eyes and made a snarky comment, or even just shove him away for his insufferable presumption, but right now all she could do was comply. His voice had taken on a rough, desperate quality, and damn if it didn’t send a bolt of lust through every nerve in her body. He kissed her again, hard, using his teeth to pull on her lower lip and pressing his body into hers, pushing her legs further apart as he climbed onto the sofa. She moved her leg so that she could hook it around his backside, relishing his hiss of pain as she dug the heel into his thigh. He responded by thrusting his hand between them, roughly pushing the thin material of her knickers aside so that he could finally touch her properly.

She cried out at the sudden contact, bucking into his hand again, and she felt him smile against her lips. When he slipped a finger inside her she gasped and clenched her hand in his hair, and it all moved rather quickly after that. He yanked her knickers down, and she winced at the sound of tearing fabric, but forgot about it almost instantly as he ground the heel of his hand into her. Her low gasps and soft moans of pleasure intensified as he moved with her, and somewhere in the back of her mind she felt like she should be returning the favour, but he seemed perfectly happy where he was, and therefore so was she. She didn’t know how long it was until she came, but it seemed like he echoed every one of her moans, grinding his hips in rhythm with his hand, and as the pressure finally broke within her she screamed, holding onto his tie for dear life and burying her head in the crook of his neck. When she eventually relaxed into the sofa, hesitantly meeting his eyes and letting out a shaky laugh, he reached down between them and carefully but pointedly removed her hand from his tie.

“Sorry,” she murmured with a small, hazy smile, “Didn’t mean to strangle you,”

“Worth it,” he muttered, pushing his hair out of his face as he moved stiffly into a sitting position next to her. She wiggled her hips slightly and tried to pull her skirt down a little.

“No argument here,” She shot him a quick grin, which he returned.

It occurred to her that both of them were still almost fully dressed, though by now they were both extremely dishevelled. His shirt was half off and through the haze of lust and pleasure she vaguely remembered taking his belt off, but not getting any further, distracted as she was. Her shirt was un-tucked and askew, and her skirt was still bunched uncomfortably around her waist, her knickers hanging over her left knee. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she shuffled awkwardly to sit up slightly, smoothing her skirt down another few inches and trying to subtly pull her knickers back up. To his credit, Malfoy had the grace to look away into the fireplace as she straightened herself out, the tiniest curl appearing at the corner of his mouth when she swore under her breath as her knickers caught on her pointy heel.

“Sorry I tore your knickers, Granger,” he said, keeping his eyes forward even as his smirk widened.

Now more or less fully dressed again, she folded her arms and gave him a withering stare, which was apparently enough to make him finally meet her eyes again.

“You’re _sorry_? I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Oh, you _wound_ me,”

She rolled her eyes.

“Wounds aside, am I wrong?”

“Well, no, but it’s still rather ungenerous of you,”

“Yes, that’s what I thought. It’s fine. I’ll just mend it when I get home- and you don’t care.” As she spoke he had leaned forward and picked up his wine, taking a long, indulgent sip. Despite her annoyance, she did the same, noting that he appeared to be in no hurry to start anything up again. He did go to undo his tie though, giving her a quick sideways look as he paused.

“Do I have your permission to take this off now?” he asked dryly, and she blushed, feeling a thread of embarrassment at her earlier… assertiveness.

“Fine, whatever.” She mumbled, not meeting his eyes. He chuckled, annoyingly comfortable as usual, and she kicked off her heels rebelliously, sticking her tongue out at him and making him let out a snort of amusement.

“You certainly are full of surprises, Granger, I’ll give you that.”

“Um, thank you?” she said cautiously, feeling confused and mildly suspicious, as she always did when she thought that he might have just complimented her. He chuckled and shook his head at her expression.

“Just drink your wine,” he said with a lopsided grin, “The night’s young.”

“Um, I’m just going to pop to the loo,” she said, “Where-?”

“Oh, er, just through that door, first door on the left.”

“Thanks.”

Hermione got up, feeling a tad awkward wandering around this opulent residence in her bare feet, but feeling that it would be even more awkward to now go back to the sofa to put her shoes back on. She padded across the room, feeling his eyes on her back until she finally shut the bathroom door behind her. The room was very elegant, all immaculate black and white tiles and tasteful Victorian style fittings, an enormous, claw-footed bathtub dominating one wall. She had been joking when she’d suggested he run her a bath, but looking at that magnificent tub made her rethink her words for a moment. She shook the insane idea from her mind and crossed the room to rest her hands on either side of the sink, staring up at her reflection in the mirror.

Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed and her clothes rumpled. Her hair was wild, but that was to be expected, at least it mostly covered the darkening lovebite on the side of her neck. She wished she hadn’t left her wand back in the other room, she could have quickly fixed her underwear while she was here. He had _torn her knickers_. He had torn her nice bloody lingerie in his hurry to pleasure her, then sat back and told her to drink her wine as if that had only been the first step of his night. Her brain simply did not know what to do with this fact. Last time had felt like a desperate whirl of passion and sensation, the two of them literally passing out almost immediately afterwards, but this… This felt like- she didn’t know what it felt like.

_‘The night’s young’_? Was he expecting to wine and dine her? Actually seduce her? Quite apart from the fact that the thought made her deeply uncomfortable, Hermione couldn’t help but think that it would be kind of unnecessary at this point anyway. She almost would have preferred it if he had just demanded a blowjob, that would have been much easier to define, and frankly, much more in character. The worst part was that she probably wouldn’t have refused him either. She should just go. She should really just go before she found herself embroiled in something she wasn’t ready for.

_Just say you’ve got to go._

But then what? Just say ‘thanks for the orgasm’, grab her stuff and disapparate without another word? She stared into the mirror, hoping that somehow the image of her dishevelled self would give her the impetus she needed to make the smart choice here. She gave her reflection a stern look, adjusted her skirt again and steeled herself to go and tell Malfoy that the night was over.

When she re-entered the sitting room though, the first thing she noticed was that the coffee table was now dominated by a huge plate of salad, along with another whole baguette and several small plates. She glowered at Malfoy, who just held his hands up innocently.

“I swear, Granger, I didn’t ask for it,”

“Yeah right,”

“Seriously, I swear, Pattie must have just decided sent it up, I had nothing to do with it-”

“Sure-”

“But you know… since it’s here-”

“You can’t be serious.”

“It would be a terrible waste,”

“I-” she began, but he had cocked his eyebrow at her, regarding her with an expression on his face that was almost… endearing.

_Get out! Just leave. Now._

“Can you really be bothered to cook?” he asked, seemingly reading her mind.

_Leave!_

“Fine.” She said, “But only because it’s an insane amount of food for one person.”

She sat down next to him on the sofa, taking the plate he offered to her as her inner voice groaned exasperatedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're catching feelings! Aaand YOU'RE catching feelings! Everyone's catching feelings!  
I spent a ridiculous amount of time researching wine talk for this chapter. Oenology is the study of wine and apparently saying that a wine has nice legs is completely reasonable, though according to my bf, who is far classier than I, looking at a glass of wine and saying 'phoarrrr, look at the legs on that' is less acceptable. What a world we live in. 
> 
> Mayune4e, you called it with the giant bathtub :P


	24. Not Just a River in Egypt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another smutty chapter, I couldn't help myself.

Draco watched Granger walk the whole way across the room, unable to tear his eyes off her arse until the door shut behind her and finally obscured his view. As soon as he heard the bathroom door click shut though, his head whipped around as if he had been in a trance.

What was he _thinking_?

This was supposed to be an extended version of the fling they had already started, messy, angry and most importantly, uninvolved. Why then, was he plying her with that bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape that his parents had given him from the Manor’s cellar as a housewarming gift? It had been a slightly passive-aggressive housewarming gift, heavy with unspoken comments that this was what he was willingly leaving behind by daring to move out of his ancestral home, but a gift nonetheless. He supposed it might even be considered an extravagant gift by some, and he made a mental note never to tell Granger how much it was worth, then made another mental note never to tell his parents the circumstances under which he had finally drunk it. Still, he felt a stab of savage, adolescent satisfaction that he was somehow outplaying his parents and their sneaky attempts to manipulate his feelings by giving their fancy wine to Hermione Granger, of all people.

That was half of the problem though, wasn’t it? She was _Hermione Granger_. It might have barely been an issue if she had been some random muggleborn, but she _wasn’t_. While she had never quite been his nemesis (that dubious honour had always been Potter’s), the vast majority of the time they had known each other had been spent at each other’s throats in one way or another. The idea of him wining and dining her as if she were some pureblood debutante was utterly absurd. She was no dainty, tittering aristocrat, and he was pretty sure she’d be fairly annoyed if he inferred as such, but much as he hated to admit it, he liked that about her. Her scorn for him was refreshingly easy to discern, not hidden under layers of cloying false compliments or passive aggression, and it certainly didn’t hurt that she tended to express that scorn in a rather spectacular fashion. Yes, when it came to Granger, he very much preferred her _active_ aggression.

After last time, he had fantasised about ogling her naked body, but given the perfect chance just now to do so, he had left her mostly clothed and instead got her off without even removing his trousers. He’d always been a selfish creature, and in hindsight his actions baffled him. What was _wrong_ with him? Not that it hadn’t been fantastic, in fact, he was sure that the feeling of those high heels digging into his back along with her white knuckled hand clamped around his tie as she came would feature heavily in any future fantasies. That wasn’t the point though. The point was that this was feeling more and more like something that was turning into… something else.

No. That wasn’t happening. That _couldn’t _happen. Time to nip this in the bud.

Before he could formulate a plan for what to say to her upon her return though, there was a loud crack, and a huge platter piled high with salad and bread appeared in front of him on the coffee table. There was another _crack_, and a small pile of serving plates appeared next to it, clattering slightly as they settled.

_Shit._

He opened his mouth to call Pattie and tell her to take all of this away, but shut it again when he thought of Granger’s reaction upon seeing his house elf standing nervously next to him and a huge pile of food that was clearly for more than one person. She had been surprisingly restrained with her ground rules and he wasn’t in a hurry to rub her face in the fact that he had a house elf when she’d specifically asked him not to do so.

_Shit._

This was not supposed to be a dinner date. This was not supposed to be _any_ kind of date. She had barely even agreed to come here in the first place, what on earth would she think if she got out of the loo to find him sitting in front of this giant spread as if it was just step two in his master plan? He didn’t want her thinking that he was trying to sweep her off her feet or something, that would imply that he actually _liked_ her. Brilliant sex aside, while he wasn’t sure he hated her anymore, he damn sure didn’t like her, and it wouldn’t do for her to get it in her head that he did. 

_Why do you care?! _ Said a desperate, angry voice in his mind, _Isn’t the whole point that you don’t care what each other thinks?_

But before he could ruminate too much on this thought, he heard the soft click of the bathroom door opening and whirled around, trying not to look too guilty. She took one step into the room, stared from the platter to him and back again, then glared at him.

“I swear, Granger, I didn’t ask for it,” he said quickly.

“Yeah right,”

“Seriously, I swear, Pattie must have just decided sent it up, I had nothing to do with it-”

“Sure,”

Her hands were on her hips and she looked livid, for a moment reminding him uncomfortably of Professor McGonagall about to tell him off for some damn thing. He took a breath. 

_Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. _

“But you know… since it’s here-”

“You can’t be serious.”

“It’d be a terrible waste,”

“I-” she started to talk and faltered, seemingly caught between fight and flight as her anger receded behind uncertainty for a moment.

“Can you really be bothered to cook?” he asked, throwing caution to the wind, and she blinked down at him, chewing on her lower lip nervously.

“Fine.” She said haughtily, “But only because it’s an insane amount of food for one person.”

“That it is…” he muttered, wondering what Pattie had been thinking. Looking at it he wasn’t sure that there was actually very much more food than she usually served him given her penchant for overfeeding him. In fact, for all he knew she had sent it up once she’d realised he had returned from work and hadn’t even known that he wasn’t alone. He certainly preferred that explanation over the frankly extremely disturbing thought that Pattie was trying to play matchmaker. Either way, he’d be having words with her later, but for now he passed a plate over to Granger. He let her serve herself as he took a large gulp of wine that was probably an insult to the vintage, but he didn’t care. He felt uncomfortably thrown off his game, and for the first time in a long time he had absolutely no idea how to proceed.

Should he lean into it, treat it like a proper seduction (not a date, a _seduction_. Completely different thing.) or act casual, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary? It didn’t have to actually mean anything, right? He had eaten pizza at her flat last time, and now she just happened to be here at the same time as his dinner, it was only polite to offer her some, all things considered. That wasn’t awkward or overly involved. Right?

“Um, it’s good,” she offered after a few minutes of silence, looking as uncomfortable as he felt.

“Oh. Good.” He managed, internally kicking himself for acting like such a moron. This was only the second time they had voluntarily spent time together, how could it already be so painfully awkward?

“Do you cook at all?” she asked politely. It was barely better than basic office small talk, but he’d take it if it got him out of his own head for five minutes.

“Uh, no. Never had to.” He said, slightly distracted by her tongue darting out to catch a bit of dressing on her lower lip.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” she said dryly, “Something tells me you’d have trouble making a bowl of cereal.”

He scoffed indignantly at that, distantly marvelling at how she managed to spark his ire even via attempted small talk, barely fifteen minutes after he had been pleasuring her on this very sofa.

“Yes, and something tells me that you barely know which ball is the quaffle.” He said after a beat. He’d had to rifle through far too many magical topics that he suspected she was already annoyingly good at before finally settling on quidditch, which he vaguely remembered her not being particularly interested in beyond the house rivalry.

“I _do_ know which one is the quaffle,” she said smugly, “Have you forgotten that my roommate is a professional quidditch player?”

He rolled his eyes at her but didn’t respond. He actually had forgotten.

“Do you? Cook, I mean.” He asked after a pause. The thought of her standing peacefully in the kitchen in a frilly apron was oddly disingenuous with his image of her as this domineering, self righteous swot, and he was curious, despite himself. She seemed surprised at the question, blinking for a second with a slice of bread halfway to her mouth before carefully setting it back down on her plate.

“A bit, yeah. I used to hate it, but I actually find it quite satisfying. Baking is fun too, plus you get to eat it afterwards. I’ve got quite good at shortbread.”

“I just can’t quite picture it,” he said with a smirk, the image in his head of her in a frilly apron now including pink oven gloves and a tray of freshly baked cupcakes. It was strangeness on nearly the same level as that whole ‘Snape in a dress and vulture hat’ thing that had spread like wildfire at one point back at Hogwarts.

“Why not?” she snapped, “It’s hardly unusual. You can’t be all that surprised that at some point in my adult life I learnt to feed myself.”

She crossed her arms irritably, and he had to admit that when she put it like that it did sound mildly silly that he probably couldn’t even boil an egg without magic. Not that he’d ever tried to boil an egg, magically or otherwise, and for possibly the first time in his life he wondered if that might be a bad thing.

“Do you have an apron?” He couldn’t help himself, he had to know.

“What? Yes, it can get messy-”

“Is it frilly?”

“Ugh, no it’s not frilly, what’s wrong with you? It’s plain blue. No frills at all.”

“Of course,” he said, injecting just a tiny note of scepticism into his calm tone, noting with satisfaction that her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly in response.

“Do I really seem like the frilly apron type to you, Malfoy?” she demanded, setting down her now empty plate and reaching for her wine.

“Well no,” he conceded, “But that’s why it’s such an amusing image.”

He gave her a smug grin and she rolled her eyes at him, but grinned back all the same. She held his eye contact for a touch longer than was necessary, but then looked away, gazing contemplatively into her wine. He looked away too, all too tempted to watch her, the way she tapped her fingernails on the side of the glass, or the way she scrunched her bare toes on the thick rug. Shit, he was already watching her, like a lecherous old man or worse, a lovesick fool. Suddenly she looked up and caught him looking. Shit.

“What?” she said, not quite annoyed, but not quite playful either. Dangerous territory.

“Nothing… nothing.” He said distractedly.

She raised her eyebrows but said nothing more, and he got the distinct impression that her brain was furiously whirring away trying to decide what she was going to do next. He didn’t claim to know her well, but he knew enough to know that he had to stop the over-thinking before it started, so he did what he always did when faced with emotional or moral issues; he compartmentalised. He shoved down his concerns about overstepping, about maybe actually starting to _like _her; shoved them down, down to the very back of his mind, to be examined later, when he could be bothered- _if_ he could be bothered. This freed up the rest of his mind to tend to more pressing issues, such as the fact that neither of them were naked.

He set down his plate and reached out to grab her wrist, and for a second she looked shocked as the wine in her glass sloshed, alarmingly close to spilling. She hurriedly put the glass down and turned to him, looking tempestuous.

“Malfoy, what the-”

“Shut up Granger,” he snapped, and yanked her over to him so that she fell into his lap, letting out a surprised squeak as she did so.

Before she could say anything else, he kissed her, hard, and she responded immediately, softening in his arms and sighing into his mouth. Those noises she made… he was only two glasses of wine in but her soft sighs and moans made him feel like he was drunk off his face. She forcefully pushed his shirt down over his shoulders and his hands flew to hers, pulling it out of her waistband and over her head. She raised her arms up obligingly, shaking her hair out over her shoulders as he threw her top to the floor. He didn’t know if it was something completely new, or just because he had teased her so much for it back at school, but there was something about her hair that enthralled him. It was somehow simultaneously intimidating and endearing, and the sight of it falling like a wild curtain over her slim frame went straight to his cock.

His hands were on her hips, this time pushing her skirt down rather than up, though as she was still sitting it didn’t go far, just stretched a little lower on her hips as she fumbled with his fly. She stood up hurriedly and he kicked off his shoes before rising to meet her, his trousers half-falling down as he pulled her back to him. Her hand was in his hair again, raking her nails over his scalp, and he let out a low growl which she seemed to enjoy.

“Bedroom.” She said breathlessly. It wasn’t a question.

They stumbled into the hallway together, Draco’s trousers threatening to fall around his ankles, and he stopped for a moment to push her skirt town properly, tugging her knickers with it. The black material pooled around her ankles and she stepped out of it delicately, giving him a coquettish smile that he honestly wouldn’t have believed her capable of just a few weeks ago. Full of surprises was an understatement. 

Now she was just in her bra, and he grabbed her shoulders and spun her around so that her back was against his bedroom door, leaning back a few inches so that he could drink in the sight of her. She shivered slightly as his gaze roved over her body but didn’t try to cover herself, in fact she reached up behind her to undo her bra, and this time he wasn’t going to try and stop her. And just like that, Hermione Granger was stark naked in his hallway, looking up at him with fire in her eyes as she shifted restlessly from one foot to the other.

“Are you done staring?” she asked, and her tone might almost have been terse but for the desire that thrummed in every syllable.

To tell the truth, he could have stood there like an idiot just staring at her naked body for hours, some pathetic vestige of his teenage self wanting to save the image for later, but her voice snapped him out of it, and he was on her in a flash. He wanted to wreck her, _devour_ her until they were both utterly and completely spent. It was almost a shame that they didn’t have work tomorrow, it might have been fun to watch her desperately try and avoid his eye, absentmindedly pulling her hair over the spot where she would have concealed the marks he’d left on her neck. 

Another time perhaps, but for now his rationality was slipping further and further out of his grasp, eclipsed by the raw, primal feeling of her naked body pressed against his, the insistent rolling of her hips against his erection and the all-encompassing desire for _more_. She reached down and used one hand to shove his boxers down, the other suddenly wrapping around his cock. He let out a low hiss and kissed her harder, thrusting up into her hand as he fisted his hand in her hair. His bedroom was right there, he only had to reach behind her and open the door, but even that seemed like too much effort. He needed her. Needed to be inside her. _Now_.

He hauled her up, his fingers biting into the back of her thighs as he pinned her to the wall, and she wrapped her legs around him, hooking her heels together at his lower back and using them to pull him closer to her. She clung to his shoulders, breathing heavily as he shuffled to line himself up with her, her eyes fluttering closed as he finally, _finally_ pushed inside.

“Fuck,” he hissed, moving one hand from her thigh to steady himself against the wall. She let out a soft moan and rolled her hips slightly, and he knew then that he wasn’t going to last long. Good thing he’d already got her off once.

It seemed like she was overwhelming his senses, her hair tickling his neck and face, her warm, lithe body moving with him, the barest hint of slightly floral perfume clinging to her neck and the lingering taste of red wine on her tongue. And the _noises_. Merlin, he could swear that she got a little louder every time they touched, and the effect was spectacular. It certainly did his ego a world of good.

As he had suspected, it wasn’t long before he groaned loudly, his hand against the door clenching into a fist as he slammed into her, his hips jerking and stuttering as he came with a low, rough groan. He slowly stilled, breathing heavily and finally unclenching his fist.

It could have been seconds or hours later when she stepped down delicately, still holding onto his shoulder for balance, and he slipped out of her with a shudder and a soft moan.

“Is this the bedroom?” she asked softly, pointing behind her with her thumb.

All he could do was nod, still bracing himself shakily on the doorframe. He chanced a look down at her and saw that she was smiling that small, secret smile again, her cheeks flushed and her hair sticking to her forehead in places, and something in his chest squirmed. She opened the door without another word and stumbled inside, collapsing onto the bed and he followed her unconsciously, falling down on his front next to her. Something in his head told him not to, but he was too tired and sated to pay attention.

As he lay there, he listened to her breathing slow until it was deep and soft. He wondered if he’d ever get around to opening that box he’d shoved his feelings into earlier. A thought flitted into his head, a fleeting, asinine fancy, but for a moment, he thought that if it meant getting to do this more often, he wouldn’t mind letting her think that he was sweeping her off her feet.

As Friday nights went, this had been a pretty good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally managed to do a whole chapter from Draco's POV! Hopefully it's not too annoying, he is still a dickwad afterall, and he's even worse at dealing with emotions than Hermione is. I had a bit of an epiphany the other day and I actually know where i'm going with this now, at least for the next several chapters, so bear with me with the frustratingly prolonged denial and oblivious not-quite-pining.  
Much love!


	25. Out of the Frying Pan

The first thought that crossed Hermione’s mind as she woke up was how wonderfully comfortable she was. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but for some reason her bed and sheets seemed to very much softer than usual, smooth and luxurious on her skin. The second thought was that she was naked, which was unusual. Where were her pyjamas? She must have been so exhausted after work last night that she just- oh.

So much for unwinding.

She opened her eyes a crack. She was lying on her side facing outwards towards the enormous windows that dominated one wall, they were draped in thick curtains, but a bright shaft of light shone through, painting a thin stripe of the room in daylight. Had – had she spent the night? She hadn’t meant to, she only remembered being too tired and comfortable to move after all of the rather energetic sex, but it was clearly morning now.

Slowly and carefully, she rolled over onto her back, trying not to think about how lovely Malfoy’s ten million thread count sheets felt on her bare skin. Soft sheets aside, her muscles ached horribly, and she thought again about how wonderful it would be to just sink into a soothing, steaming bath. Her bath though. Alone. At her house. Shit, she hoped Ginny wasn’t worrying about her after she didn’t come home last night. She’d told her that she would be working late, and it wouldn’t be the first time she’s stayed at the office until midnight or later, but as yet she’d never actually spent the night at her desk. She had to get out of here.

She chanced a look to her left where Malfoy was sprawled on his back, his bottom half thankfully covered by the blanket. Ugh. He really did have no right to be so bloody attractive. His arm was slung over his eyes and turned outwards so that the dark mark was fully visible on his forearm, and faded though it was, it served as a harsh reminder for Hermione of _exactly_ whose bed she had woken up in. She _really_ had to get out of here.

She sat up, painstakingly gently so as not to wake him, and saw with some horror that her clothes were folded neatly on a velvet armchair by the window, her wand placed on top of the pile and her shoes stood at the foot of the chair. That was not where she had left them, and he certainly hadn’t dragged himself out of bed in the middle of the night to tidy up her clothes, so that left either a strange case of sleep-tidying or Pattie. God, how utterly mortifying. She took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. The less she thought about that, the better, just focus on getting home for the time being. She swung her legs off the side of the bed and stood up, resisting the urge to drag the blanket with her for modesty.

“Shit, is it morning?” came his voice behind her, low and scratchy from sleep.

She sighed despairingly and looked over her shoulder just as he opened his eyes. He blinked sleepily at her for a second as if he was trying to figure out what he was seeing, and Hermione wished she had just taken the damn blanket. It would have woken him for sure but at least she would be standing stark naked in the middle of his bedroom. As it was she forced herself to swallow her embarrassment, turned around without a word and made her way as quickly as humanly possible to her clothes and began to redress. She couldn’t turn back to him until she at least had her underwear on, but when she did she found him still staring at her.

“What?” she said, trying her best to sound as dignified as possible as she pulled on her skirt. He shook his head distractedly and she noted that he had shifted so that the dark mark was hidden once again.

“You’re still here.” He said, sounding drowsy and befuddled.

“Ten out of ten for observation, Malfoy,” she said dryly, sarcasm masking her discomfort as she noticed the way his eyes followed her every movement as she picked up her shirt and pulled it over her head. “I’ve got to go.”

“Yeah… sure.”

“Yeah.”

She stepped into her shoes and pulled on her coat, pausing for a moment to bend down and check her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was the same mess it always was, but her neck was covered in bite-marks. With a small huff of annoyance she cast a concealment charm on herself and watched with satisfaction as the marks faded.

“Was uh- were all your clothes in here?” he asked awkwardly.

“Yes. I’d rather not think about how.”

“Well, probably Pat-” he stopped talking abruptly when he saw her glare, “Fair enough.”

“In fact, if you want me to come back here I would strongly recommend having a little chat with her about it. I’m sure she meant well but… at least Ginny had the decency to leave everything as it was.”

“Message received.”

“Good.”

“Right.”

“Ok. I’ll um, I’ll see you on Monday I suppose.”

“Yes, Monday.” He said, still sounding like he was only half-awake.

“Um, also, awkwardness aside, please do thank Pattie for the dinner yesterday.”

“Of course.”

“Ok. Bye then,”

“Wait, Granger,”

“Yes, Malfoy?”

“Still too good not to do again.” He said, grinning up at her before yawning hugely.

“You are incorrigible.”

“Yep. I’m told it’s one of my better features. See you Monday,”

“See you,”

She gripped her wand, checking quickly that she had everything that she had brought from work yesterday before disapparating. She reappeared in her bedroom and noticed with dismay that she had left her door open when she’d left for work yesterday morning; meaning that Ginny would have seen all too easily that her bed was decidedly un-slept in. Hermione dropped her bag on the floor and cautiously poked her head out into the living room, which was empty.

“Ginny?” she called. No answer.

Was it too much to hope for? Could Ginny have spent the night at Harry’s? She slipped out of her heels and tiptoed out, cautiously checking the kitchen and the bathroom. Both empty. Ginny’s bedroom door was shut, but Hermione couldn’t hear her inside, in any case, she couldn’t see Harry’s shoes or coat by the door, and it was rare that these days they didn’t spend Friday night together. She let out a heavy sigh of relief and went back to her bedroom, carefully closing the door behind her.

She undressed with some relish, put on her pyjamas and crawled into bed, audibly sighing and grinning widely as she pulled the covers over herself. Her whole body hurt. Her muscles had already been aching when she’d left work yesterday, and that was before all the extremely tiring –though admittedly incredible- sex. Now she felt like she had run a marathon and she made herself a promise to have an actual bath today, but only when she actually felt like she wanted to get out of bed again, which might not be for the next week.

***

Most of the weekend was spent telling herself off every time she tried to analyse every second of her time with Malfoy, which was roughly once every fifteen minutes. Ginny returned barely an hour after Hermione did on Saturday, having indeed spent the night at Harry’s, and much to Hermione’s relief, did not ask about how she had spent her evening. She didn’t doubt that her next conversation with Ginny about Malfoy would be far less unpleasant than the first one, but even so she wasn’t in a hurry, especially since she was scarcely less of a mess about it all than last time. She was as bewildered and frustrated as ever. She hadn’t meant to spend the night, but he hadn’t made any effort to make her leave, in fact she was pretty sure that at one point not too long after they had finished, he had been curled around her, legs tangled with hers and his arm slung around her waist, holding her close. This confused her deeply, but what really disturbed her was the fact that despite her rational mind knowing that it was just a physical response while they had been basically unconscious; her emotional mind had it filed away as a _pleasant_ memory.

She couldn’t keep this up. She wasn’t an idiot, and she had enough wits about her to be able to step away and look at this objectively, and from that perspective, this was starting to look an awful lot like the beginning of a real relationship- a real relationship with real feelings. And well, that simply couldn’t happen. She would just have to redraw the boundaries or stop it entirely. No more kissing at work, no more staying over and absolutely no more spooning, and if he refused, then no more sex full stop. And this time she’d actually stick to her guns. Not like that last time when she’d threatened to report him and just ended up making out in her office.

Thankfully, it wasn’t an issue she had to confront immediately, as the chaos at work only intensified over the next week as the Christmas break loomed closer, and she didn’t hear anything from him until they ran into each other on Wednesday. She was hurrying through the gloomy halls of the Department of Mysteries on her way to a meeting when he almost knocked her over, arms laden with paperwork and looking harried. Their eyes met for a moment, but an understanding passed between them and she quickly helped pick up a few papers that had fluttered away in their collision, but then turned away without another word and rushed off to her meeting.

On Thursday she thought about sending him a memo. She wasn’t particularly looking forward to the awkward conversation that was bound to happen, but she’d rather just get it over with than go through the whole Christmas break knowing that things were left unsaid. She would have quite enough on her mind as it was, without spending the whole time worrying about this. Unfortunately, she got distracted by yet another minor crisis with her project and forgot all about it until she got home. Friday came and went, and before she knew it she was stumbling out of the floo at home and kicking herself for forgetting yet again.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist then?” asked Ginny, looking amused as Hermione huffed and dumped her bag unceremoniously on the floor.

“Ugh, just something I forgot to do before the break.” She said, crossing into the kitchen and putting the kettle on. “Nothing too important, but now it’s going to bug me.”

“You can always go back if it’s quick-?”

“No. No, I’m done for the day- It might not be quick anyway.”

“Damn straight. You work way too much anyway,” said Ginny sincerely, as Hermione leaned tiredly against the doorframe between the kitchen and the sitting room.

“You may be right,” she conceded, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail and wincing at the pinching pain in her shoulders from spending the whole day hunched over a desk.

“Fancy a rant? They’ve been working us ridiculously hard at practice this week for the match tomorrow, and I could use the distraction.”

“Sorry again that I can’t make it,”

“Ah, it’s fine,” she said, waving away her concerns, “So what’s up? Is it that idiotic receptionist again?”

“Um, no,” said Hermione cautiously, reaching to fiddle with her hair before remembering that she had put it up.

“Oh no,” she sighed, “It’s that_ other_ idiot, isn’t it?”

Hermione made a face that was apparently answer enough for Ginny. She groaned dejectedly, but shuffled up on the sofa and patted the spot next to her. Hermione rolled her eyes affectionately, made her tea and sat down beside Ginny.

“Are you sure, Gin, you don’t have to-”

“I’m sure. I mean, we can talk about something else if you’d rather. But seriously, anything to keep my mind off tomorrow,”

“You ok? You don’t normally get nervous-”

“Hermione, the distraction.”

“Right, yes.”

“So, can I assume that you didn’t just end it after our last conversation? As I recall you were on the fence.”

“I was. And no, I didn’t end it. It’s sort of ongoing actually,”

“You saw him last week, didn’t you?”

“What-I thought you’d spent the night at Harry’s!”

Ginny laughed, and Hermione couldn’t help but grin despite her embarrassment.

“I did. You said you’d be ‘working late’, and you were wearing those heels you hate walking in, but make your arse look incredible.”

“I- Well in fairness I actually did end up working late. But so did he, and then- well.”

“Uhuh, so what’s the beef now?”

Hermione grimaced and took a sip of her tea, looking quickly at Ginny and away again.

“I um, I spent the night last week. At his house.”

“So?”

Hermione stared at Ginny. Of all the responses she had expected, confused indifference was not one of them.

“Really?” she spluttered, “This is not supposed to be- there was -ugh- _cuddling_, and-”

“Are you trying to say that this thing between the two of you is supposed to be more casual than intimate little sleepovers?”

“I- yes, that’s exactly what I’m trying to say.” Said Hermione curtly, internally annoyed that she apparently couldn’t string a coherent sentence together.

“Gotcha. Ok, that’s fair, I mean, it is him. And you’re you.”

“Thank you! Yes, exactly. And I meant to bloody talk to him about it, but work’s been mad and before I knew it the week was over! I mean, I’m not pining to talk to him or anything but you know what I’m like. This feels like a loose end and it’ll bother me for the whole break.”

“I do indeed know what you are like, but aren’t you going to be too busy to be obsessing over it? It’s not that big a deal anyway, just have a talk next time you see him, or crazy idea, just owl him if it’s really driving you mental.”

“You think?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Scoffed Ginny, shrugging and grinning and Hermione, “I mean, objectively I don’t think it’s a big deal that you slept at his house, but I’m not exactly an authority on casual relationships,”

“Well neither am I,”

“True, I doubt there’s a book on it in the Hogwarts Library, so-”

“Oh shut up,” laughed Hermione, shoving her affectionately in the shoulder.

“Ah, you know I’m only joking,”

“Yeah,” Hermione’s smiled faded slightly and she sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling, “I still have no idea what I’m doing, Gin.”

“Maybe it’ll do you some good to get a bit of distance?”

“Probably.”

There was a short pause, before Ginny shifted uncomfortably, looking like she was dying to say something.

“Um, Hermione, you know I love you and I respect your decisions and all, and I’ll always been your friend, but can I just- really quick-”

“Go ahead,” sighed Hermione resignedly, and Ginny grinned.

“Oh my GOD, I cannot fucking believe that you are FUCKING Draco Malfoy! What the hell is even happening? What’s next? Neville and Rita Skeeter?”

Hermione laughed, and Ginny cleared her throat, smoothing down her hair where it had got messy from her wild gesticulating.

“I-ok, I think I’m done.” She said.

“Sure?” asked Hermione, grinning.

“Yeah, for now. I’m past the initial horror and a good way through the incredulous shock. Before you know it I’ll be making dirty jokes about the two of you.”

“…Please don’t.”

“I- I know. As soon as I said it I knew. Too soon.” Said Ginny, shuddering and grimacing.

“Definitely.”

They were both silent for a moment. Hermione sipped her tea.

“So you slept over?” asked Ginny.

“Yeah, and – oh god, Ginny, so I wake up and find my clothes all neatly folded up in the bedroom, his _house-elf_ tidied them up!”

“Oho, holy shit that is awkward.” She laughed, and so did Hermione.

“I know!”

“But of course he has a bloody house-elf-”

“Ugh, I know. She’s free though, I checked.”

“Of course you did.” Said Ginny affectionately. “That’s why we love you,”

For one insane moment Hermione thought that ‘we’ meant Ginny and Malfoy, until she realised that she obviously meant herself and their friends. Some of her uneasiness must have shown on her face, because Ginny threw her arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a rough hug.

“Thanks, Ginny,” said Hermione, as her friend released her. “Feels good to vent.”

“Don’t worry about it, dealing with Malfoy’s enough to make anyone need a hug.”

“Truer words were never spoken.” She said tiredly, and Ginny gave her a knowing smile.

***

It was bitterly cold on Saturday afternoon, and Draco was mildly regretting leaving his Christmas shopping so late. Not that he had a long list of friends to buy for, but Christmas was pretty much the only tradition that his family still adhered to, and there would be hell to pay if he turned up at the Manor with nothing for his parents. Diagon Alley was heaving with people, and he realised too late that he really should have put some thought into what he actually wanted to find rather than just hoping for the best that he’d just stumble across the perfect gift. After an hour with no luck, he decided to give it up for now and come back when he had a better idea what he was actually doing. Christmas Eve was the day after tomorrow, he still had time.

He passed Flourish and Blotts on the way back down the winding street to the Leaky Cauldron, glancing distractedly into the shop windows when he did a double take. Granger was in there, nose in a book as always between the cramped bookshelves. He had meant to catch her at work at some point this week, but it had been a madhouse, and every time he’d thought about sending a memo to her he’d got distracted by some other damn thing. He could have owled her, he supposed, but something about writing just to talk felt a bit too… close, so ultimately he’d just left it alone. They were barely out of enemy territory after all, they could survive a few weeks without talking, but there she was, standing there as if he had conjured her up with his mind.

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

No sooner had he thought this though, he found himself stepping into the welcome warmth of the bookshop, which was blissfully rather less busy than the rest of the street. A book would be a perfectly reasonable gift for his mother after all.

Her back was to him in the Magical Architecture section, her thick woolly hat and scarf bundled up under her arm. He leant casually against the end of the bookshelf and put on his best lazy smirk.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he drawled, and she whipped around, slamming the book she was holding shut. For a moment her expression gave him pause; she looked utterly horrified to see him, which was certainly a departure. Even before they were sort of halfway cordial it had been pure, unadulterated loathing in her eyes, not terror.

“Malfoy, what- what are you doing here?” she nervously glanced over her shoulder and he raised an eyebrow at her.

“Honestly Granger, I know you’re embarrassed to be seen with me and all, but this is just-”

“Hermione, are you going to get in trouble if we- oh-” a thin man had emerged from the other end of the aisle. He had short cropped, slightly receding hair and thick framed glasses, and something in his bemused but friendly expression reminded Draco of Arthur Weasley.

“Um,” Draco stared at Hermione, whose eyes had fluttered closed as if all of her nightmares were coming true.

“Rob, what- oh, hello,” a tall woman had now appeared besides to the man, she had wildly curly dark hair cut into a short, messy bob, and now the three of them stood next to each other the family resemblance was unmistakable.

Hermione sighed heavily and gave him a look that was almost apologetic.

“Mal- Draco, these are my parents.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so I looked it up and here is almost no lore at all regarding Hermione's parents, they don't even have names, so now they're Rob and Gill, in this story at least.   
Hopefully Ginny isn't quite so obnoxious here, she's trying, bless her. I know Hermione's being a bit of a baby about the cuddling and all, but I feel like she doesn't have Malfoy's ability to compartmentalise, or Ginny's ability to roll with the punches, so she just needs a little freak out from time to time to work through it.


	26. Into the Fire

Hermione watched in horror as Malfoy’s mouth dropped open in surprise. This was not supposed to happen. Sure, they were bound to run into someone she knew shopping in Diagon Alley this close to Christmas, but she hadn’t expected it to be _him_. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was mildly surprised he’d lower himself to shopping in person at all. There was a clear three seconds of silence before her father stepped forwards cheerfully, extending his hand to Malfoy.

“Rob Granger,” he said, and Malfoy took his hand and shook it, as if in a trance, “Are you two friends?”

“Work.” They both said hurriedly.

“We work together, Dad.” Repeated Hermione, trying desperately to keep her expression neutral, the last thing she wanted was her parents to think that she was embarrassed to be seen with them.

“Ah, right,”

“Yes, we work together,” said Malfoy blankly, clearly having trouble getting his head around the situation he had found himself in. Her mother, apparently sensing the tension stepped forwards, also extending her hand.

“I’m Gill,”

“Draco Malfoy,” he managed, and Hermione hoped against hope that her parents didn’t remember the name of that one classmate of hers who had caused her so much misery at school. If they did remember though, they didn’t show it.

“Are you out Christmas shopping, Draco?” asked her mother kindly, clearly sensing his discomfort, and Malfoy looked quickly from her to Hermione.

“Er, yes. For my parents.”

“That’s nice,”

“Yes. Nice.”

Hermione couldn’t help it, she let out a short scoff at the thought a ‘nice’ Malfoy family Christmas. Her mother gave her a sharp look for her rudeness, but didn’t say anything.

“We’re visiting Hermione for Christmas,” piped up her father, oblivious as always to the tension both between Hermione and Malfoy, and between her and her mother. “There’s something about putting up the tree in blistering summer heat that just feels wrong.”

“Huh?” mumbled Malfoy, looking confusedly from her father to the freezing weather outside.

“My parents live in Australia,” said Hermione distractedly in way of explanation, but in her head she was rapidly cycling through all her previous conversations with him. Surely she must have mentioned the whole memory replacement debacle at some point… but then, why would she? At the time he would have been the last person she would have told, and in recent years she just assumed everyone already knew, everyone she cared about anyway, though she supposed it wasn’t public knowledge in the same way as other things. In any case, their relationship such as it was hardly included deep personal conversations, least of all about their families.

Her relationship with her parents these days was… strained. When she had found them after the war and finally returned their memories, relieved they were safe and excited to be reunited, she found them not grateful or relieved, but angry and hurt. Not that they weren’t glad that they were all safe, but they hadn’t been happy that she had taken it upon herself at seventeen to decide on the best method of securing their safety, then proceeded to essentially force it upon them without their knowledge or consent. At the time she had been heartbroken and frustrated that they didn’t see that she had done it to save their lives, but now, years later she could see where they were coming from. It had taken a lot of careful, tentative olive branches on both their parts and a great deal of muggle money spent on international calls, but they had finally got back to something close to the family they had been before the war.

“Oh,” said Malfoy. “Australia, that’s… far.”

_Please don’t ask why, please don’t ask why_. Hermione begged internally. Not that she blamed them given the circumstances, but since the war her parents had wanted to stay as far away as possible from Hermione’s world, even if it meant being far from Hermione herself. Her mother had said; ‘we’ve made a life for ourselves there, you _gave_ us a life there’, and her words had cut right down to Hermione’s core, though she hadn’t been willing to admit it at the time. Things were better between them now, but this encounter with Malfoy was a minefield. Thankfully, it seemed that he was so taken aback by the sheer awkwardness of the situation that he wasn’t quite his usual, cutting self.

“Yes, in Melbourne,” said her father, “Have you ever been?”

“Um, no.”

“Probably for the best, you look like you’d sunburn easily.”

“Rob!” hissed her mother.

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up and Hermione felt her face flush. Her parents had got noticeably more… forthright in their time down under. Generally she found it refreshing, even amusing, but right now she felt like she could just crawl down into a hole and stay there until her embarrassment had subsided, until the next geological epoch for example.

“You’re probably right,” said Malfoy after a small pause, displaying tact that she hadn’t believed him capable of. “Did you take a uh- a plane?”

“Yes, we got in yesterday,” said her father, “The jet-lag’s a nightmare, even worse with daylight savings-”

“Daylight-?”

“Just- just don’t worry about it, Malfoy,” muttered Hermione feebly.

“-but we’re not fond of that- what d’you call it? Apparition? Doesn’t half churn your stomach, does it?”

“I- yes. Apparition,” he managed, with almost exactly the same expression on his face as he’d had that day at the science museum when he had been cornered by a slightly over-enthusiastic muggle child.

“Dad, I’m sure Mal- Draco has to get back to his Christmas shopping,”

“Uh, yes.” Said Malfoy weakly, sounding relieved.

“Oh yes, of course, don’t let us keep you!”

“Lovely to meet you, Draco,” said her mother, shaking his hand again.

“Likewise,” he mumbled, holding his hand out to her father, who shook it. And just like that, Malfoy gave Hermione a fleeting look that she couldn’t quite pin down and turned around, leaving the bookshop as if the very hounds of hell were on his heels.

“Seems like a nice bloke, bit shy though.” Said her father.

Hermione smothered a cackle and just nodded, trying to imagine two less fitting adjectives to describe Draco Malfoy. Humble maybe, or easygoing. They paid for their books and made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron, and Hermione fervently hoped that Malfoy hadn’t stopped for a pint before heading home. She scanned the throng of people around the pub for a shock of white blond hair, but let out a small sigh of relief when she didn’t spot him. Tom the barman showed them to a cramped table in the corner which was miraculously free despite the bustling crowds. Hermione was sure that this was due in no small part to her own celebrity, and much as she hated it, it was nice to finally sit down.

Tom brought their drinks and she sipped distractedly at a glass of mulled wine while her parents chattered away, lowering their voice occasionally to comment on the particularly outlandish customers. She couldn’t blame them, this place attracted all sorts of strange witches, wizards and others, she just supposed she had become blind to the eccentricity, but it was nice to see her parents drink it in with new eyes.

“Hermione, are you alright? Your mulled wine is going to get cold.”

“Huh? Oh yes, of course. Yeah, I’m fine Mum, just tired.” She thought about saying that she could just re-heat the wine with a flick of her wand, but thought better of it and just smiled and took another sip. Her father got up to use the loo, and her mother turned to her, concern written clearly in every line on her face.

“Are you sure? You’ve been a bit out of sorts since we ran into your friend at the bookshop-”

“He’s not my friend, Mum,” interrupted Hermione.

“Mmm,” said her mother, sounding unconvinced.

Hermione sighed. She had never told her parents the specifics of her brief stay at Malfoy Manor. There was an unspoken agreement between the three of them that they would not speak of the war, of the lost friends that her parents had never known and the horrifying things she had experienced that they couldn’t fully comprehend. They had never been a particularly close family emotionally, preferring the very British convention of using meaningful looks and gruff nods to convey the love they felt for each other, but the added complication of the existence of the wizarding world meant it even harder to open up to them. She certainly wasn’t going to be discussing her and Malfoy’s strange fling with them, although she was pretty sure no one would relish talking about casual sex with their parents. For now though, she owed them at least half an explanation.

“Ok, fine, but quick before Dad gets back, do you remember that guy at school who was always awful to me and Ron and Harry?”

“I’m not sure, I think so…”

“Um, once I told you he was a pinch-faced little shit and you told me off for swearing?”

“Not the one who hated you for-?”

“Yes. That one.”

“I thought he was in… prison,”

“He was- well, house arrest, and he’s served his time, but it’s complicated.” She sighed, “He’s… sort of good now, well not evil anyway. He’s got a certificate and everything.”

“Oh, well if he’s got a certificate,” Her mother added dryly.

“Yeah, I know, believe me, but he’s working in my department and I’m trying to maintain a halfway decent professional relationship.” Hermione said, her snarky inner voice adding that making out in her office was decidedly _not_ very professional.

“That was _him_, was it?” Her mother said to herself, taking a sip of her own wine.

“Yes. Please don’t tell Dad, he’ll only get upset.”

“Oh alright, but only because he’ll be crushed if he finds out. He was this close to inviting him for a pint, you know.”

“Oh god…”

“Yes, yes, in hindsight it doesn’t seem like the best idea, but for all we knew he was just one of your colleagues. We see precious little of your life these days, darling,” her voice softened slightly as she finished speaking, and Hermione suddenly felt incredibly guilty. In her rush to cover up her and Malfoy’s current fling and their rather dark history, she hadn’t realised that her parents really just wanted to be part of her life in some small way, even if it just meant meeting a co-worker.

“I-I’m sorry, Mum,”

“It’s fine, darling, really,”

“You know we can go to the Burrow and see Harry and Ron and the rest of the Weasleys if you want? Molly’s made it quite clear we’re all welcome, and Arthur would love to-”

“Pick our brains about rechargeable batteries or some such thing, yes, I remember Arthur.”

“Well, probably, yes.” She conceded as her father pushed his way through the crowds and sat back down, “He means well though, and I think it’s nice that he gets so much joy over something as simple as a hoover.”

“I suppose it is nice,” chuckled her mother.

“Really though, I’m not trying to keep you separate,” said Hermione, determined to make her point, “I just thought it would be so crowded and loud, and-”

“Hermione, we’re both really looking forward to a proper family Christmas, just the three of us.”

“Yes, absolutely,” said her father, catching up to the conversation.

“Ok,” said Hermione quietly, feeling strangely small as she sipped her drink.

Her parents were beginning to tire of the constant crush of people anyway, and she had to admit that she was tired too, so they finished their drinks and crossed back into muggle London. They spend an enjoyable few hours wandering down Regent’s Street looking at the Christmas Lights, and she travelled with her parents back to their hotel before finally heading home. They had plans to meet with some old friends from before Australia tomorrow, giving Hermione a few days to herself before Christmas, which she appreciated, since with work and all the madness with Malfoy she had barely sat down for weeks. At least it felt that way.

God, she had almost forgotten about Malfoy. What a horrible coincidence that he happened to be shopping in Diagon Alley at the same time as them. All things considered though, the encounter had been unexpectedly painless, and she had been pleasantly surprised at his willingness to interact with her parents, although he had seemed a bit out of it. And to think, a week ago she had been freaking out about sleeping over, blissfully unaware that she was about to unwittingly introduce him to her parents. At least she had mostly got away with introducing him as her co-worker, and her mother knowing that he had picked on her at school explained away any awkwardness, although she wasn’t sure if her mother would be quite so friendly if she ever met him again.

Ginny was at the Burrow and would probably stay there until Boxing Day, and Hermione was happily curled up on the sofa with her book and her third cup of tea when she heard a tapping at the window. She pulled the curtains aside to reveal Vesta, Malfoy’s eagle owl staring haughtily in through the window, her eyes glowing eerily in the light.

“Ugh, what now?” groaned Hermione, opening the window and letting the owl hop in from the cold. No sooner had she retrieved the message from her leg though, Vesta ruffled her feathers irritably and flew off immediately, disappearing back into the night as Hermione shivered in the sudden chill. Well that was unusual, in the past she’d always waited until Hermione had written a reply before leaving, especially when the weather had been particularly grim. Hermione frowned slightly and shut the window, leaning against the radiator to warm herself back up as she unfolded the parchment. The note was nearly illegible, most of it was covered in scribbles where he had crossed out words or sentences, and the short message that had survived his brutal editing was messy and smudged.

_Need to talk. I’d come to you but I’m afraid I’d splinch myself._

Hermione flipped the note over, but the back was blank.

“Unbelievable…” she muttered, suddenly wishing her tea was something stronger.

She stared at the message for a few more seconds, willing it to make sense. The implication was that he wanted to come over to his house, especially since Vesta hadn’t stuck around for her to start a postal conversation or arrange another meeting place, but the message was painfully vague, and Hermione didn’t fancy just turning up on his doorstep. Worse, if he wasn’t expecting her he’d probably have wards up, and if she tried to apparate she’d just bounce back and end up on her arse in her living room where she’d started. Honestly, would it have killed him to elaborate just a tiny weeny bit more? Probably, he did seem to delight in enraging her by whatever means necessary, so it followed that anything that might actually make her life easier would be like pulling teeth for him.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and wondered how she ever ended up being attracted to this human equivalent of a paper cut. She relaxed her eyes slightly, and as her mind wandered she thought that she could almost make out some of the words under his crossings out.

_I’m sorry._

_Tell your parents I’m sorry. _

She squinted down in disbelief, but now she had seen it there was no mistaking the words. Something about the word ‘sorry’ written in his spiky handwriting slowed her annoyance at being summoned so abruptly, and now she walked over to the sofa, setting the note carefully down of the coffee table as if it was a key piece of evidence that she had to consider. She sat back, thinking.

He was _sorry_? Really? Not too sorry clearly, otherwise he’d never have crossed it out, but apparently sorry enough to write it in the first place, and that was more than he’d ever offered in the past. But if he didn’t want her to read it why scratch it out like that? Why not vanish the ink, or just start on a new bit of parchment? And why did he think he was going to splinch himself?

It was too late now, her curiosity had been piqued, and she wasn’t going to be able to sit still until she knew what was going on. So much for having a nice, quiet evening to herself. Merlin, he was infuriating, just assuming she was at his beck and call. She’d already taken her bra off as well, and changed into her fuzzy pyjamas, thinking that she wasn’t going to have to leave the house again today. If this was another stupid game she was going to kill him.

“This better be fucking good, Malfoy,” she muttered as she got dressed again, normal clothes now feeling unbearably constricting. She pulled on jeans, a t-shirt and a chunky knit jumper that was so big that it could have easily fit another Hermione inside it. Part of her considered finding something a little bit nicer, but that part was quickly overwhelmed by her impatience and general annoyance. The nerve of him, dragging her out without even thinking about what she was doing, and him knowing her parents were visiting! The very least he could have done was let her bloody reply and ask what this was about, he knew full well she didn’t have her own owl. She shoved her wand and her house keys in her jeans pocket, braced herself for the possibility of being rather uncomfortably denied entry to his house, and disapparated.

She was genuinely surprised when she reappeared without incident in his sitting room, but the room was quiet and dark except for the glowing embers of the enormous fireplace. She squinted in the suddenly low light, but it seemed that the room was empty, the sofas unoccupied and an empty glass on the coffee table.

“Um, Malfoy?” she called, feeling a creeping sense of dread as she stood there. Why in the name of all that was good and logical had she thought that it was a good idea to come here?

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the embers in the fireplace shifted, the soft noise deafening in the silent house.

“Lumos,” she whispered, the creepy ambience getting the best of her. The pale light of her wand tip didn’t make it much better though, it cast the furniture in ominous shadows which shifted eerily as she moved, and it reminded her of the torches held by television detectives as they crept through shadowy, abandoned places in search of dark secrets and dead bodies. She had the uncomfortable realisation that she had no idea what the layout of this place was; she was pretty sure his bedroom was down the hall, and the bathroom was through that door on the left, but beyond that it could have been a labyrinth for all she knew. She should just get out of here, apparate home and-

Suddenly, there was a crashing from another room and a door across the room slammed open, a figure staggering out with its wand raised. Hermione acted before she thought, wartime reflexes springing into action.

“Petrificus Totalus!” she yelled, but just as the spell left her, she heard a familiar voice.

“Granger? Is that y-argh-fuck!”

“Malfoy?!” she hurried over and saw that he was lying face down on the rug, “What on earth are you doing creeping around in the dark?”

“It’s my house! I can creep however I want!” he grunted, voice muffled by the rug.

“Oh for- finite incantatum,” His body relaxed, and he rolled onto his back, swearing under his breath.

“What the fuck are you even doing here?” he muttered, and now she actually listened to his voice it sounded heavy, words blurring into each other.

She lit a few candles with her wand and looked down as he heaved himself up off the floor. His movements were heavy too, uncoordinated and clumsy as he propped himself against the doorframe. She raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Are you _drunk_?”

“No,” he said, far too quickly. She took in his bloodshot eyes, crumpled shirt and dishevelled hair.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Malfoy,”

“Yeah well, like I said; s’my house. I’m an adult, if I wanna get drunk I can get drunk. What’re you doing here anyway?”

“What am I doing here? You fucking _asked_ me here!”

“I-did I?”

“Jesus Christ…”

“Wait, uh, yeah, I…owled you?”

“Yes, Malfoy, you owled me.”

“Why’d you come?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” she muttered irritably, then took pity on him as he hung his head, “Because you said you wanted to talk…”she sighed.

“I did?” His eyes were unfocussed, his face screwed up in a frown with the effort of trying to remember, or maybe it was just the effort of staying upright.

Hermione shook her head impatiently. She had had quite enough of his bullshit. There was a warm sofa and a glass of wine at home with her name on it.

“You know what, I’m not your nursemaid, I’m not going to-”

“Did I say sorry?” he said, slurring his ‘S’s.

“Not-not exactly-”

“Well I am. Fuck’s sake. I can’t- I’m fucking so fucking sorry.”

They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Hermione wondered how he always managed to pull the rug out from under her so effectively and effortlessly, even as he swayed alarmingly in front of her. God, he was a nightmare. She sighed and felt her shoulders slump in defeat.

“Just sit down, Malfoy.” She said. It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, a lot of headcanon in this chapter, over the last few months while i've been writing this I thought a lot about Hermione's relationship with her parents. I mean, memory charms are super sketchy right? Good intentions aside I wouldn't be particularly happy if someone screwed with my memories in even a minor way without my knowing, so I wanted her parents to be quite wary of the wizarding world as a whole, though this is obviously set several years into their emotional recovery, and I don't think they ever really blamed Hermione personally.  
Anyway, I have many, many thoughts about this, so hopefully it doesn't feel like loads of clunky exposition :)


	27. Try a Little Tenderness

Hermione watched with mild contempt as Malfoy staggered across the room to fall clumsily down onto the sofa. She had taken the armchair he usually sat in as a precaution in case he tried to get close, and it afforded her an excellent viewpoint from which to watch his drunken attempts to pour himself another glass of something. She didn’t know what he thought it was, because the decanter was empty, a fact which seemed to confuse him deeply. Another time she might have been amused to watch him act like this, it was certainly a departure from his usual composed, carefully put-together self, but today she only felt exhaustion and annoyance. With a flick of her wand she magically yanked the decanter out of his hands, levitating it over to a table across the room as he huffed petulantly.

“You’re the worst, Granger,”

“And you’re an unrepentant arsehole, Malfoy. Sit down.”

“I am sitting down.” He said, folding his arms sulkily.

“Then sit still.” She snapped.

“You sound like M’gongal. She’s the worst too.”

“Shut up. You dragged me here away from a perfectly lovely evening, and I’m really not in the mood for our usual shit. Do you have any sober-up potions?”

“Dunno… mebbe?”

“Oh for- accio sober-up potion!”

A tiny, dark blue vial whizzed through the air from the door he had entered from and into Hermione’s hand, and she let out a sigh of relief.

“Where’s Pattie anyway?” she asked as she uncorked the vial, “Shouldn’t she be taking care of you?”

“Told her to go,” mumbled Malfoy, “Couldn’t- not with the eyes, remind me of- nevermind.”

“Right,” said Hermione slowly, trying and failing to piece together his meaning, “Fine, just drink this.” He took the vial without protest, though he was having some difficulty holding it. She watched him like a hawk as he drained it, and nodded approvingly. It would be a little while until it took effect, but without the potion he probably wouldn’t have sobered up until tomorrow afternoon, and she right now she had neither the time nor the patience to deal with that.

“Now what?” he asked, placing the empty vial carefully back on the coffee table next to his empty tumbler.

_Yes, Hermione, now what?_ She thought to herself.

“Now we wait until you aren’t a drunken idiot anymore.” She said. “I can barely deal with your normal level of idiocy. Aguamenti.” The tumbler filled up with water, and she pushed it towards him.

“You’re the worst.” He repeated, scowling and falling back heavily into the sofa, looking for all the world like a teenager who had just been sent to his room.

A few minutes passed in silence before Malfoy cleared his throat, shifting restlessly amongst the cushions. Hermione couldn’t help but feel awkward. She knew she given him the sober-up potion so that she didn’t have to have this conversation with him in this state, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Why are you drunk, Malfoy?” she asked quietly.

“None of your business.” He said, narrowing his eyes at her.

“I would argue that since you lured me here with your stupid, cryptic note, it’s actually very much my business.”

“I _lured_ you?!” he exclaimed, slurring even more in his exaggerated outrage, “How dare you, you little-”

“What?” she said coldly, “What am I, Malfoy? Please don’t censor yourself on my account.”

He opened his mouth but had enough sense to shut it again, then folded his arms and looked away.

“Yes, that’s what I thought.” She said curtly.

“I wasn’t going to- I didn’t mean- you know… that.” He mumbled.

“Sure,” she said flatly. She expected him to make some scathing remark about her always thinking the worst of him, but it didn’t come, and when she chanced a glance over to his side of the room, she saw that he was leaning forwards with his head in his hands between his knees as if he was trying not to pass out.

“Malfoy? Are you ok?” she asked uncertainly, “You’re not going to throw up are you?”

“I deserved that,” he said miserably, voice muffled by his hands, “I deserve everything you throw at me, and more.”

“What?” she whispered. She couldn’t see his face, but his voice was flat and despondent.

“I try not to think about it most of the time- the stuff during the war- just focus on whatever I’m doing y’know? It’s harder with people who were there, you and Potter and Weasley, even my parents sometimes, but most of the time I can deal with it, just sort of not feel it until I’m alone, and usually it passes, quicker than it should too,” he took a deep, shuddering breath and continued, still not looking up, “But I couldn’t- something about your parents just-” he looked up suddenly and stared at her, “Do you remember Professor Burbage?”

“I- what? Yes, I remember her,” Hermione was a bit taken aback by his sudden change of topic, but as she spoke she remembered her lessons, her pro muggle opinions and the ominous whispers when she had disappeared during the war. They never had found her body.

“She was one of the first that he- at my house- the first one he killed that I actually knew.” He had looked away again, and Hermione’s blood ran cold. She absentmindedly scratched at her forearm. “He had her there for _days _before he- and I- I couldn’t do anything, I was just stuck, paralysed and-”

“Ma- Draco,” she said, hoping his name would bring him back to reality, “You don’t have to do this-”

“Yes I do,” he said abruptly, jerking his head up to meet her eyes for a second before looking back down at his knees again, “I won’t work up the nerve again otherwise.”

“Ok,” she murmured, wondering how much of this he would still be saying if he was sober.

“It was my fault. All of it. Doesn’t matter that it might have happened another way without me. It _didn’t_ happen another way, and it happened because I was a stupid fucking child who didn’t have the balls or the brains to question anything until it was too late. People are dead because of me.”

Hermione was silent. What was there to say? She knew his past, had even made her peace with it, but even so, hearing him lay it out in front of her like this was wreaking havoc with her coping mechanisms. She picked at her jumper and tried to ignore the lump that had formed in her throat. If it had been anyone else she’d be over there already, arm around them as she told them emphatically that it wasn’t their fault, it was Voldemort’s fault, but right now she couldn’t. She couldn’t move, and she couldn’t look away, and he seemed to take her silence as confirmation of his own worst fears. His shoulders slumped and he exhaled heavily, and when he spoke he sounded almost relieved that she hadn’t tried to comfort him.

“I sat there like a fucking statue as he murdered that woman on the fucking dinner table, Granger,” he continued bitterly, not meeting her eyes, “I let those lunatics into Hogwarts _willingly- _fuck, I let Greyback loose in a _school_, and barely three years after my father got Lupin sacked…” he trailed off and suddenly looked quite green.

When he didn’t continue, Hermione shuffled restlessly in her chair, watching uncomfortably as he tried to take deep breaths and ran his hands through his hair. With his wide, bloodshot eyes staring into the middle distance, and his hair sticking up in all directions, he looked quite mad.

“None of this is new information though,” she said carefully, going for the logical approach since she didn’t think she had it in her to confront her actual emotions at the moment, hers or his. “I already knew all that, I’ve always known, so why-”

“Urgh, I really wish you hadn’t given me that potion, Granger, this would be so much easier if I was still wankered.”

“You’re not still? Could have fooled me.” she said before she could stop herself. She knew that the current tone was absolutely not one for their usual snarky verbal sparring, but it was true, he was still slurring his words and he really did look like he could throw up at any moment. Thankfully he didn’t seem overly upset by her comment.

“Your compassion astounds me.” He said dryly, sounding like his old self for a moment, though it did seem that he was concentrating hard on enunciating the words properly. “Fine, let’s just say that I’m feeling ever so slightly less trashed than I was when you got here.”

“Fair enough,” she mumbled, pointing her wand at his glass and refilling it with water. He nodded in thanks, took a deep drink and sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back into the sofa.

“Fuck, I don’t know... I thought I’d come to terms with you, I thought I was just about able to look you in the eye without remembering… everything. I thought- I don’t know, but then you- your parents were just there and it was like it was yesterday. Then they were so fucking nice and I kept thinking; ‘you shouldn’t be shaking my hand, not after everything I’ve done,’”

Now Hermione _really _didn’t know what to say, but thankfully his attention span was particularly short at the moment, and he suddenly glared at her.

“I can’t believe you bloody hexed me in my own house. Could’ve broken my nose.”

“Don’t be such a baby, it was only a body bind curse,” she said vaguely, “Anyway, it was creepy and dark in here, you can’t blame me for being a bit jumpy.”

“Oh please, I do not believe for a single second that you haven’t been waiting for the chance to curse me since the very moment you found out I was being released.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but said nothing, and Malfoy looked away again, drinking more water.

“They, um, they don’t know about the stuff- the stuff at the manor,” said Hermione after a few minutes, her voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s-it’s complicated, but they don’t know about a lot that happened during the war. We don’t really talk about it…”

“Oh,” he said after a pause. She couldn’t blame him for not knowing what to say to that, it was a delicate and complicated situation and she didn’t really want to talk about it, in fact she didn’t know why she brought it up in the first place.

“I did um, I did tell them that you used to pick on me at school though,” she said, and he groaned loudly.

“Oh wonderful, thanks a lot for that,”

“You’re very welcome,” she said briskly, ignoring his unimpressed look. “I also said that you weren’t evil and I was trying to have a halfway decent relationshi- professional relationship with you.”

“I suppose I should be grateful,” he said after a small silence, “Compared with the rest I think I’d rather they just think I was a bit of a little shit at school.”

“Perhaps,” she said noncommittally, privately thinking that he had been rather more than just a bit of a little shit, that time he’d actually broken Harry’s nose and left him paralysed to bleed in the train compartment springing to mind, or pretty much any of his interactions with Neville, or even Hagrid... God, he really had been a nightmare…

His mind seemed to be elsewhere though, and now he was staring into the fire and swirling the water around in his glass as if it was whiskey. Suddenly he looked at her, looked right into her eyes as if he was trying to see into her very soul. He set the glass back down on the coffee table and turned to face her properly.

“Granger, I- Hermione, I’m so fucking sorry, for everything.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. She tried to think of something to say, but her mind was suddenly completely, terrifyingly blank. She had suspected he might apologise properly tonight, especially after the note and all the uncharacteristic sharing, but now the words had finally left his lips after all this time she found herself utterly speechless.

“And before you ask, it’s not just because I’m drunk-” He continued, seemingly oblivious to her shock, “I’ve been trying to figure out how to do this for ages, and then when I saw your parents today I just- I couldn’t not do it any longer, and-”

“Malfoy, stop,” she managed, and his mouth snapped shut. “Just- I- give me a moment.”

He hung his head and looked utterly dejected, his hair hung limply into his face and in that moment she realised that he looked exactly the same as he’d looked during their sixth year, when _his _war had really started; broken and exhausted. Hermione willed away the tears that threatened to spill over her cheeks and nervously tucked her hair behind her ears. This… this was not how she had expected to feel.

All this time, all the heartache and tragedy and horror from before, and more recently all the rage and scorn and seething passion… she had expected to feel triumph, satisfaction, maybe even a little peace at finally hearing his sincere apology, but right now she felt none of that. She felt overwhelmed and confused and _terrified_. He didn’t scare her, he never had, so why was her heart thumping against her ribs as she felt panic rise in her throat? Why were tears pricking at the corners of her eyes?

She chanced a quick look over to him, but he hadn’t moved from his spot on the sofa, still sitting with his head bowed and his hands hanging down limply between his knees.

“I don’t um, I don’t know what to say,”

“It’s fine. I don’t know what I want you to say.”

She looked away this time, focusing over his shoulder on the landscape she had noticed last time she was here. He was right; it did make the place seem cold. She watched the painted clouds swell and heave in the invisible wind and just for a moment, allowed herself to let go. That one small moment was enough though, and before she could stop it she screwed up her eyes and felt her face flush as a few rebellious tears streaked down her cheeks.

Fuck… _Fuck!_ She wasn’t going to cry in front of him… no, no way, that wasn’t happening… But even as she thought that the tears continued to fall, impervious to her will, and she let out a small sob. His head shot up at the noise, and even through her bleary eyes she could see his face cycle from horror to bewilderment to utter, utter shame. She desperately wiped her eyes, but it seemed that the floodgates had been opened.

“Don’t- stop staring at me like that, Malfoy, I don’t know why- I just- shit!”

He quickly looked away, and distantly she wondered if that was maybe the first time he had done something she asked without any argument or resistance. He raised his wand with shaky hands and a small box of tissues popped into existence at Hermione’s elbow. She furiously grabbed one, ripping it in her haste and dabbing at her eyes. They sat in awkward silence for a while, determinedly avoiding each other’s eyes until Hermione’s tears subsided. She sniffed and sighed in relief, wiping her eyes and hoping that her face wasn’t too blotchy.

“You know what the weirdest thing is?” he whispered, his voice rough and barely audible over the crackling fire.

“What?” she sniffed.

“All the stuff during the war, all the fucking horror and death and everything, but when I first saw your parents the only thing I could think of was this time during third year- it seems so trivial now- Pansy and I started a rumour that you were part werewolf- you know, because of the hair-”

“What!? I don’t remember that!”

“You- you don’t?” he asked falteringly, looking extremely guilty.

“I mean, I don’t remember all that much of that whole year, I was frazzled beyond belief, but even so…”

“I know, I know, not my finest hour. It can’t have been all that convincing either if you never even heard about it.”

“Oh wow, what a comfort that is,”

“I know, I’d love to say it was all Pansy’s doing, but-”

“God damn it, Malfoy you little _bastard_!”

“Well, yeah.” He said, looking wretched. “I was at least, I- well, I hope I’m not quite so bad now,”

Hermione sighed tersely.

“You’re more self-aware, I’ll give you that much.”

“I’ll take it,” he said with the ghost of a smile. “And since I’m here I’ll also apologise for that and any other shitty things I’ve done which you may not be aware of.”

“Such as?” said Hermione, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Well, how am I supposed to know what you’re aware of?” he said sharply, raising an eyebrow at her, “I’ve already stuck my foot in it once, I’d rather not dig myself into an even deeper hole if I can help it.”

“Smart-arse.”

“I choose to take that as a compliment.”

“Ugh, fine, fine. Go on then.”

“What?”

“You said you were going to apologise, so go right ahead.”

“I already did, didn’t I?”

“Oh no, you’re not getting off that easily-”

“Do you have to be so difficult all the time, Granger? I’m trying here,”

“_I’m_ difficult!? Merlin, does the very thought of apologising physically hurt you? I’m offering you a onetime deal here, Malfoy, you get to apologise to me right now for all the horrible shit you did at Hogwarts without me even knowing, and I won’t even make you list them- not now anyway.”

“You’re drunk on power, you know that?”

“It’s really not so difficult,” she chided, ignoring his comment, “A little while ago you were falling over yourself to apologise- unless you didn’t mean it-?”

“No, I- no. I meant it, Granger- I promise.” He held her gaze, and she thought his eyes seemed a little sharper than before, clearly the potion was working. He absentmindedly smoothed his hair down and shuffled along the sofa so that he was sitting next to her, the sofa was lower that the chair she was sitting in, meaning that she was in the slightly unsettling position of looking down at him. She wasn’t sure why it was unsettling, but it was. He reached out to touch her arm but she jerked it away instinctually.

“What’re you doing-”

“Relax,” he said gently, “Just trying to do the thing properly.”

His expression softened slightly as he laid his hand over her forearm, it wasn’t the one with the scar, but even though she was still wearing her thick jumper the unexpected physical contact made her heart jump. Suddenly she was nervous again, her face flushing and her throat dry as she fought the urge to break eye contact and stare down at the floor. His eyes were much warmer than usual in the soft light of the fire, and as she looked into them it suddenly occurred to her that they might not be bloodshot just because of the alcohol.

“Hermione,” he murmured, and once again she was struck by how strange her real name sounded coming from his lips, “I am truly so terribly, terribly sorry for everything I have done to you.”

He gave her arm a gentle squeeze and just like that, she was crying again. She reached hazily for the tissues, cursing her body’s involuntary and extremely unwelcome reaction to this, and squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to stem the tide. When she opened them, she saw that he had stood up, and as she watched he tentatively leant down towards her to swipe his thumb over her cheek and brush away a tear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, crouching down so that his face was level with hers, and now she was closer to him she could see the sheen of tears in his eyes too. He withdrew his hand and bowed his head. “I’m so, so sorry, Hermione.”

Then, as if something momentous had suddenly shifted inside her, Hermione sniffed, blinked and said something she never thought that she would say in a million years.

“I forgive you, Draco,”

Hermione and Draco looked at each other for a long moment until she finally looked away, distractedly wiping her eyes with her sleeve. She was vaguely aware of him standing up and sitting back down on the sofa beside her. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine herself actually saying those words to him in person. Of course it was the healthy thing to do, but somehow on the rare occasion that she had thought of his place in her healing process she had never actually believed she would say it, much less actually feel it. Yet here she was, and as soon as the words had left her mouth she had known that they felt right. It was time.

It was a bit ridiculous that it had really taken him this long to apologise, but he’d got there eventually, and to her great surprise she found that she was satisfied with that.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, “Is the ‘J’ for ‘Jill’?”

“What?” she said, sharper than she had intended.

“In ‘H-J-Granger’, is the ‘J’ for ‘Jill’?” 

“Um, no, it’s Jean.”

“Oh. I thought- ‘cause your-”

“Mum’s Gillian, with a ‘G’.”

“Oh. I thought- because my middle name’s Lucius,” he said lamely.

“Yes, I know, I saw it on the-”

“The paperwork, yes of course.”

“Um, yeah,”

There was a lengthy silence before he spoke again.

“_Jean_? Really?” he asked, a tiny hint of amusement in his voice.

“Yes, why?”

“Nothing, I was just a bit surprised. Your parents are Rob and Gill, it all just sounds so _normal_.”

“Well, yeah, they are normal-”

“And they called you _Hermione_?”

“I- so what? I happen to like my name,” she said, tossing her hair and sticking her nose in the air, “Anyway, people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, _Draco_.”

“Yeah well, my father once told me I was nearly Abraxus, after my grandfather, so I’ll count myself lucky, thanks,” he muttered, and Hermione couldn’t help letting out a small, slightly teary laugh.

“Yeah, you win there.”

“Yeah,”

“How are you feeling anyway? Less trashed?”

“Much less, thank you,” he said, “Why are you sitting in my chair?”

“I wanted to keep my distance. I was worried you’d throw up on me.”

“I- I really want to be offended but that was probably a reasonable concern.”

“Mmm, I thought so.”

More silence.

“Did you really throw Pattie out?” she asked.

“Oh shit, I forgot, I don’t think I actually dismissed her-”

“Well that’s good,”

“But I don’t think I was very nice… I told her to go spend Christmas at Hogwarts, so I suppose I’ll just be fending for myself for the next week or so…”

“God forbid.”

“Indeed. If I don’t turn up at work in January just assume I’ve starved to death, or burnt the house down attempting to boil an egg.”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure you’re joking, but-”

“I’m at least seventy- wait, eighty percent joking.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, but he gave her a tiny smirk and she couldn’t help but smile back.

“That was actually funny,” she said, “Truly, today is a day of momentous surprises.”

“Oof,” he huffed, clutching melodramatically at his heart, “You are ice cold, you know that?”

“I’ve heard it once or twice, yes,” she replied, giving him a small, tight smile that faded slightly when she caught sight of the time on a large grandfather clock behind him. “I um, I should really get home, it’s late.”

He spun around to look at the clock.

“Oh shit, it is late. I was supposed to go to the manor this evening…”

“Oh god, please don’t tell me your parents might turn up at any minute looking for you-”

“No, no, they’ll just be all snippy and passive aggressive about it tomorrow. Fuck, I just- I got home earlier and freaked out, then I had a few drinks and, well, here we are.”

“Yes, here we are,” she said quietly and he looked up at her with a strange expression she couldn’t quite identify. He just looked at her for a beat before turning to gaze into the fire.

“Did you mean it?” he asked softly, “Do you really forgive me?”

“I think I do, yeah,” she said after a moment, and out of the corner of her eye she saw his shoulders slump as he exhaled sharply. “Thank you for apologising, Draco,”

“Thank you for forgiving me,” he murmured.

She nodded stiffly and stood up slowly, suddenly feeling tiredness permeate right down into her bones. She desperately needed to sleep. It had been a long day even before she had come here, and now she felt completely emotionally exhausted.

“I’d better go,” she said, and he stood up as well.

“Ok,” he said, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, “Uh, earlier, I didn’t interrupt a thing with your parents did I?”

“Um, no, I was just at home on my own.”

“Oh, good,”

“It’s- it’s nice that you asked though,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They stood there for a moment, neither one of them eager to move.

“I should-”

“Can I-?”

“Can you what?” she asked, and she watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. He let out a slow breath and hesitantly took a step towards her.

“Can I-?” he reached out and brushed his knuckles over her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear and making her breath catch in her throat. She nodded stiffly before she even thought about it, and she saw the corner of his mouth twitch as he leant down to her.

Hermione knew it was different the very moment their lips met. A warmth seemed to spread all the way through her body, and all other sensation, save the feeling of his lips against hers, melted away. Their previous kisses had been all heat and fierce urgency, but this was achingly gentle, as if this moment between them was some rare, delicate thing that could shatter into a million pieces if they weren’t careful.

When they separated it was as if they were in slow motion, it was several seconds before Hermione thought to open her eyes and when she did, she saw that he was looking down at her dazedly, the expression on his face reminiscent of the first moment after waking in the morning. It took several more seconds for her to remember who he was and why she had to leave. She cleared her throat and he rubbed the back of his neck a tad awkwardly.

“I’d better go,”

“Yeah, ok,”

“Right, um, bye then,”

“Yeah, bye,”

“Happy Christmas, Malfoy,”

“Merry Christmas, Granger,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, this was a heavy chapter. Emotions are hard you guys!


	28. Family Ties

Christmas passed pleasantly enough, Hermione managed not to ruin her very first Christmas dinner with a great deal of help from her parents in the later stages, and they spent the evening sitting happily on the sofa watching films on the TV and nibbling at leftovers. They had been particularly impressed by the tiny magical candles she had decorated the flat with, along with the sparkling enchanted baubles that spun serenely on the tree, prettily reflecting the lights in the room. Hermione didn’t have the heart to tell them that it was all Ginny’s work, she had been so busy with work that by the time it occurred to her to put up decorations, Ginny had already got impatient and done it one evening with Harry while Hermione had been working late. She really had intended to do the whole dinner without magic, but she slept a bit too late on Christmas morning and so had to cheat and chop everything magically, hopefully her mother would never know.

As she had sat sipping her tea and watching the knives float around dangerously chopping carrots and parsnips, she had wondered about what sort of Christmas was happening at that moment at Malfoy Manor. She was pretty sure that Lucius and Narcissa weren’t allowed to employ house-elves due to their terrible conduct with poor Dobby, so would they have to cook themselves? The image of the two of them flitting around the kitchen was bizarre, even more so when her brain added in Draco, trying to help but inevitably getting under their feet. She had smiled to herself at that, but then her parents had arrived and she had hurriedly stopped the charms on the knives and gone to answer the door, all thoughts of the Malfoys forgotten.

Over the next few days she thought of him occasionally, images and memories of sensation popping into her head like icebergs that immediately stopped her train of thought. She tried very hard not to obsess over it, it was Christmas after all, and she had plenty to distract her, especially since her parents had agreed to go for lunch at the Burrow before they returned to Australia for New Years Eve. After a great deal of persuasion on Hermione’s part, they had agreed to take a portkey home rather than flying, and she had spent an hour back at work wrangling a last minute, international portkey for them. It had been a bit of a pain, especially since the destination was a muggle residence, but it meant that they could stay another few days and not have to worry about jet-lag on New Years, plus their journey time had now been cut down from a little over 23 hours to about two minutes.

When the three of them arrived at the Burrow, they found it as loud and crowded as ever, though surely not as much as it had been over Christmas and Boxing Day, since Bill, Fleur and Charlie had already gone home. Ron wasn’t there either, and she couldn’t really blame him, her parents were like his ex-sort-of-almost-in-laws, which was a complicated relationship to navigate under even the best of circumstances. Even so, the place was hectic, and she couldn’t help but worry that it was all a bit intimidating for her parents, but they seemed happy enough despite the noise and constant offerings of drinks and nibbles. George was a force of nature as always, but he and Ginny managed to sit almost quietly as Harry and Hermione’s father tried in vain to explain how satellites worked. Arthur of course, was riveted, but both Harry and Hermione’s father had had a few beers by this point, and neither of them were satellite experts, and she found herself sniggering as their explanations devolved into increasingly wild gesticulations, using the salt and pepper shakers as props.

She stood up to get another drink, and found her mother and Molly standing together in the doorway to the kitchen with matching, very generous glasses of wine, watching their husbands interact with great amusement. Hermione shared an affectionate eye-roll with them and crossed into the kitchen to make herself another cup of tea, someone had to get them all home safely after all. She was happy they had managed to come here, especially after the comment her mother had made about not seeing much of her life. Watching her actual family mix with her chosen family did her soul good, and though she understood why Ron wasn’t there, part of her wished he was. They spoke regularly now, and it was almost back to normal, Susan came to her office to complain about him after all, how much more comfortable could you get? It might have been a nice time for them to start acting less like exes and more like friends, but it didn’t matter, not really. She watched absentmindedly as the teabag spiralled around in her cup and let her mind drift inexorably back to Malfoy, more specifically, kissing Malfoy.

Maybe she should try harder to think of him as Draco now, they had certainly passed some sort of… intimacy marker or something the other day. However, she knew that once she started _thinking _of him as Draco, she would then start _calling_ him Draco, and that would make it harder to convince people she still hated him, especially at work. Was that even what she wanted anymore though? She had already told Harry she was trying to have a normal, halfway pleasant working relationship with him, was it really so terrible that people might think they no longer hated each other’s guts? Honestly, they were all adults, two people could work together without it being anything more. No one would suddenly assume they were sleeping together if she started calling him by his actual name… right? She blinked down at her tea. Now she was just being paranoid.

She thought of the pleasure she’d felt watching Harry, the Weasley’s and her parents interacting and wondered how he might fit into that picture, if he ever could fit. She shook her head vigorously. Malfoy? Fitting into her inner circle of loved ones? Insanity… that would be absolutely insane… right?

“Hello? Earth to Hermione!”

“Huh?” she gave a start and spun around to find Ginny standing behind her looking impatient but still slightly amused.

“Can you pass me the biscuits? They’re in that cupboard in front of you.”

“Yes, of course. Sorry, Ginny, I was a million miles away.”

“Clearly. “

“Sorry, I was just… having a very strange thought.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” she said quickly, feeling a rush of heat creep up her cheeks. Ginny gave her a look.

“Hmm, awfully dismissive, aren’t you? If I didn’t know better I’d say you were thinking about you-know-who –I mean- ah shit, not _that_ you-know-who…”

George entered behind her, making both of them jump. He hopped casually up onto the counter next to Hermione, perilously close to her tea, and she became very aware of George regarding her with sudden and disarmingly intense curiosity, and she blushed furiously.

“What’s all this then?” he said with a cheeky grin.

“Nothing, George, mind your own business,” said Ginny haughtily. “Anyway, Hermione, I’ve barely said two words to you since you got here, have a good Christmas?”

“Yeah, it was lovely, how was yours?”

“Great, same old, same old though,”

“How’ve you been generally, Hermione?” asked George.

“Yeah, good actually, how’re you?”

“Much better since our mums broke up that muggle studies lecture. Honestly, I don’t know why Harry even knows that stuff,”

“You just kind of pick it up,” shrugged Hermione, “You’d be surprised how much stuff you accidentally learn having one foot in two different worlds.”

“Makes sense I suppose,” said George through a mouthful of biscuit.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s gross,” said Ginny.

“You sound like mum, it’s creepy.”

“No I do not!”

“Oh, now you sound even _more_ like her,” he said, making Ginny scowl and punch him in the arm. “Ow! Come on, Hermione, back me up here!”

“Hah! No thank you, I’m staying well out of this.” said Hermione with a grin, though privately she completely agreed with George.

“Prat.” Said Ginny, sticking her tongue out at him and turning to Hermione, “Listen, I’m going to go rescue Harry from the parents, but are you going to be in tonight? We can continue our conversation from earlier.”

“You’re as subtle as a bloody sledgehammer, you know that?” muttered Hermione.

“Runs in the family,” she said unconcernedly, jerking her thumb towards George who gasped and mouthed ‘_moi?’_ in mock indignation. “Looking forward to this evening even more now,” she gave them a toothy grin and turned back towards the sitting room. 

“So how’s the shop?” asked Hermione, but George was having none of it.

“Who’s this other you-know-who then? Not another dark wizard I hope, I think I’ve had my fill.”

“All of us have, I think,” murmured Hermione, wishing Ginny had chosen her words more carefully. “No, not a dark wizard,” _Not anymore, anyway,_ she thought.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he said, helping himself to another biscuit as Hermione added milk to her tea. To her surprise he didn’t press her further.

“Hey, George,” she said, suddenly struck with inspiration, “Do you remember a rumour back at Hogwarts about me-”

“Which one?” he said, grinning.

“You _are_ a prat.” She said irritably, “A rumour that I was a werewolf or something?”

“What? That’s bloody stupid,”

“Yeah I know,”

“I mean, thanks to Rita Skeeter there was pretty much every rumour under the sun about the three of you in one way or another. I don’t think I remember one about you being a bloody _werewolf_ though, why?”

“I think it’s because of the hair,” she said, fluffing it up as evidence.

“No, I mean why do you ask.” said George, rolling his eyes at her. “Brightest witch of our age, my arse.”

“Oh, yes of course. It’s nothing really, just something someone said.”

“Anything to do with your mystery man?” said George slyly, waggling his eyebrows.

“First of all, I never said it was a man,” she said lightly. “And second of all, he- or she- isn’t mine. Why is everyone so bloody interested anyway?”

“Ooh, touchy aren’t you? Alright I’ll drop it, none of my business anyway.”

“Thank you.” She said tightly, but he gave her an amused, knowing look.

“It’s really obvious you’re an only child. Privacy is a rare luxury in this house, let me tell you.”

“I can imagine,” she muttered. Actually she didn’t have to imagine, she had stayed here enough times in Ron’s old room that she knew all too well how thin the walls in this house were. Still, given the choice she’d have thin walls over well-meaning but ultimately overstepping house-elves any day. “Is that why Ginny’s such a bloodhound for gossip?” she asked.

“Nah,” George snorted, “That’s because she’s her mother’s daughter.”

“I heard that!” came Ginny’s voice from the other room.

“Case in point,” muttered George, rolling his eyes at Hermione and jumping neatly down from the counter, “Calm down Gin, I’m only joking, don’t- no, don’t tell mum!”

***

Draco was tired. He felt fatigue weighing him down with each step, but somehow he was still restless. He hated this place at the best of times, and now it felt like it was sapping his very life-force. The Manor was decorated for Christmas in magnificent garlands and sparkling silver ornaments shaped like various magical creatures, but somehow the festive additions only served to accentuate the dark, imposing atmosphere that permeated every inch of this place. Christmas itself had been exhausting, sitting politely and making small-talk for hours on end with his parents. At least they had stayed out of the main dining room, which now sat mostly abandoned. Christmas dinner had been served in one of the smaller parlours that his parents had converted into a dining room of sorts after the war, but even though he was grateful not to have to go back to that room, the experience hadn’t been pleasant. To say they were shadows of their former selves would be an understatement, and while Draco still came to see them every now and again, each visit seemed to hammer home the face that their family would never be what it once was. Not that they were ever especially close, but despite everything he did still have some happy memories of his childhood, and it made him sad to think that the people from those memories no longer existed.

He had stayed here out of habit, but now Christmas was well and truly over he wasn’t sure why he bothered anymore, and as he trudged through the halls to his room he felt a sudden surge of claustrophobia. The labyrinthine halls seemed to close in on him, and the cavernous rooms suddenly felt stifling. Why did his parents stay here? The ministry would hardly forbid them from simply serving out their sentences somewhere else, somewhere that wasn’t soaked in death and pain, but no, they would never leave. This manor was the last vestige of what once had been a proud, powerful family, an institution of Wizarding Britain, and they would never abandon it, not even after everything that had transpired. That didn’t mean Draco had to stay though, especially not now. He had done his duty and returned home for Christmas, he’d talked about work and endured their polite nods and poorly concealed disapproval; he’d sat and obediently listened to his mother’s gossip about people he didn’t know as they both wilfully ignored his father’s blank, thousand-yard stare. He’d done his duty, and now he was done.

He increased his pace to his old bedroom, and now the prospect of leaving was once again on the horizon, his thoughts swerved back to Granger. He had been carefully avoiding thinking about her since he’d seen her, mostly because he simply couldn’t handle thinking of her in this place, it was all too easy to drift back into memories he had put a great deal of effort into ignoring, but now he let himself recall snippets of memory from that night.

She’d let him kiss her, and through his hazy, alcohol soaked brain he had wanted, not to pull her hair and fuck her senseless, but to lay her down and cover every inch of her body in kisses just to hear her sigh and giggle. This disturbed him greatly. His first instinct was to force himself to try to go back to thinking that being attracted to her was some incomprehensible, despicable character flaw, but somehow he just couldn’t quite bring himself do it. He had apologised, sincerely. He could count on one hand how many times in his life he’d done that, and even more miraculous, she’d _forgiven_ him. She had looked him in the eye and told him that she forgave him and he hadn’t seen a shred of deception in her eyes. Thinking of their tryst as some perverse, shameful oddity suddenly felt somehow… disrespectful.

He began to shove his clothes haphazardly into a bag, but he stood up abruptly, looking around the room. He supposed it was pretty lavish for a kid’s room, with the silk panelled walls and massive four-poster bed, but given the comfortable dormitories at Hogwarts he’d never really questioned it until recently. He remembered putting up that Slytherin banner, he remembered posing for that picture of the quidditch team, but he felt no connection to that boy, to this place. Suddenly, he was struck with a rare moment of clarity. He wouldn’t be staying here again. Next year he would just come for the day, his parents would argue and object, but this wasn’t his home anymore, the boy who called this place home was gone.

To his surprise, this realisation was accompanied by a surge of giddiness, and for a moment he almost laughed. When was the last time someone laughed in this room, really laughed? He didn’t know the answer, but the last time _he_ had really laughed was back at his house, with her. The thought was a little worrying, but mostly what he felt was a strange sort of anticipation. Not pleasant, not exactly, but not unpleasant either.

The feeling was fleeting though, and he frowned as he sat down on his bed. Really, it was quite unlike him to be so soppy, clearly Granger was a bad influence. Next thing he knew he’d be spouting nonsense about the power of love and kindness and other such drivel. He might be trying to be a better man, but better didn’t necessarily mean _nice_, Granger was proof of that. Morally, she might well have been an angel of goodness, but she could (and had) cut him to ribbons with a few well placed words, not that he’d ever admit it to her. She was prickly as hell, but then so was he, and he found that the thought of seeing her softer side filled him with a pride that was quite unlike the usual malicious glee that he felt when he was pleased with himself. In any case, he wasn’t going to sit here in his old bedroom and just brood, he’d done quite enough of that already.

With a quick glance around the room, he got up and stepped back into the hall, shutting the door behind him. He’d find Vesta before he talked to his parents. Granger’s parents might have left by now, and he found that he didn’t like the idea of sitting alone in his house, the place seemed so much more alive when she was in it.

He stopped for a moment in the hall and groaned. First she’d got him actually looking forward to seeing her, and now he was waxing poetic about her in his spare time? She was definitely a bad influence. He scowled, but kept walking anyway.

Self-discipline was never his strong-suit, not when he really wanted something. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact; when I first started this I really just wanted to write a specific sort of dynamic between characters, and Hermione and Draco seemed as good a fit as any, but I've never particularly shipped them. Anyway, fucking 80k words later and I've gone and converted myself, i'm so enjoying writing them :)


	29. Sea Change

By the time she finally got back to work the next week, Hermione was well and truly sick of Christmas. The day after the Burrow she’d said her goodbyes to her parents and watched slightly sadly as they held tightly onto the portkey and whirled off to the other side of the planet. Hopefully this set a precedent for them occasionally using magical transportation though, which would mean that they could feasibly visit much more often. For New Years, they had all trekked out to one of the hills around the Burrow to sit in a magical bubble of warmth and watch one of George’s magnificent firework displays. It had become a bit of a tradition for them, and this year they had opened it up to their wider circle, so that it became a bit of a DA reunion party. Wonderful though this was, it had inevitably got rather raucous, and Hermione was left feeling very much worse for wear the next day, and stepping into her (blissfully quiet) office the day after that felt like a welcome relief from the constant stream of social events.

As soon as she sat down in her chair though, her thoughts wandered inexorably back to _him_. As she read her memos she thought about his soft touch on her cheek, the near inconceivable vulnerability he’d shown that day. She went to check on the penseive project, and as she drafted her report for Wolfsson she remembered that dopey, confused, but pleased look on his face when he’d woken to find her still in his bed. She smiled to herself and signed the report with a flourish. She wondered if she would see him today, though she supposed he would be busy with the backlog of work and moving into his new office.

“Knock knock!”

Hermione’s head shot up to see Harry poking his head around her door, and found herself strangely disappointed.

“Oh, hi Harry,”

“Hi,” he said slowly, raising an eyebrow at her, “Were you expecting someone else?”

“No, I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she said hurriedly, but he looked unconvinced.

“Ok…”

“What’s up, Harry?”

“Just wanted to see if you wanted to join Ron and me for lunch,”

“Ugh, is it lunchtime already?” she sighed exasperatedly. With her own backlog of work and getting distracted by thoughts of Malfoy every ten seconds, she had completely lost track of time, though this was hardly unusual for her.

“Yes, Hermione, it’s lunchtime,” he said, smiling, and stepping into the office, “We could never drag you away from the library at Hogwarts for meals either. Things never change, do they?”

“Oh shut up,” she said, but without any real rancour. “Anyway, I’m coming for lunch,”

“Good,” he said, taking a seat in front of her desk while she packed up her work, leaving her door open behind him. “Against all odds it was actually a quiet Christmas in the Auror Office, but you look like you’re still swamped, you could use a break.”

“Probably, yeah,” she said vaguely, looking up from her desk just in time to see Malfoy step into the doorframe behind Harry.

She froze, and for a split second it seemed that he did too, his face a mask of comical dismay. Thankfully he stepped backwards and out of site barely a nanosecond before Harry turned around to see what she was looking at.

“What?” he said, looking confusedly at the empty doorway.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, shoving a stack of papers in a drawer.

“What is going on with you, Hermione?” he asked, giving her a shrewd look that she was sure he’d picked up from Ginny.

“Nothing,” she repeated, then sighed at his unimpressed expression. “Wrackspurts.” She said, giving him a wry smile and dreamily waving her hands around her head in her best impression of Luna.

“Hmm, yes of course,” he said dryly, “You must have picked them up from Luna at New Years.”

“It’s nothing, really, just a bit out of it today,”

“Yeah well, you’ve said it’s nothing three times now-”

“Because it is nothing!”

“That’s four times. Hermione, you do know that I do this for a living right?” he chuckled, “I know a suspicious story when I hear one, but even if I didn’t; number one, I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re lying, and number two you weren’t a very good liar to begin with.”

Hermione scowled at him and picked up her bag.

“Well number one, I resent being compared to the criminals you usually deal with,” she said, “And number two, ugh, let’s just go to lunch, ok?”

“Fine by me,” he said, standing up and shrugging, “But the fact that you couldn’t think of a second point makes me think that something’s really up. Did something happen with your parents?”

“No, nothing like that. Harry, I’m fine, really. I’m just a bit distracted, I’ll tell you about it another time, ok?”

He gave her a long, searching look, then sighed.

“Alright, I’m not going to interrogate you,”

“Good.”

“Fine, let’s get lunch.”

“Yes, let’s go.”

***

Draco watched as Potter and Granger left her office and walked together in the direction of the lifts. He was hidden around a corner, though he didn’t really know why. Potter knew he came down here sometimes for work, why should he be hiding like some sort of reprobate? Even worse, for once he actually _had_ come down here for work, he had a report he had been told to bring to her about a cursed bottle of wine that supposedly made the drinker experience their worst nightmares. Now he was standing here in the corridor holding the folder like an idiot, staring at her now empty office. She had locked the door too, so he couldn’t even slip in and leave it on her desk. Ridiculous. At least no one had caught him skulking around the halls for no apparent reason.

He huffed irritably and made his way back to the lifts, he’d have to bring it down later. Why was Potter always there anyway? Didn’t have his own work to do? Much as he hated to admit it, Draco had really been looking forward to seeing her again. Their last meeting hadn’t been under ideal circumstances, it wasn’t until nearly an hour after she’d left that the potion had taken full effect and he realised exactly how drunk he had been. Not that he regretted apologising, he didn’t regret anything he’d said, but it hadn’t exactly been the most dignified affair, and he had run his mouth about that stupid bloody werewolf rumour that apparently she hadn’t even known about. Actually, given the circumstances it had gone pretty spectacularly well, now he thought about it.

He had been so determined to owl her on his way out of the Manor a few days ago, but when actually faced with the blank page he had chickened out. He told himself it was because he didn’t know when her parents were leaving, and he didn’t want to interrupt her family time, but in truth, it was because every time he started a message it ended up sounding like he was asking her out. He tried being more blunt, but then he’d sounded boorish and crude, so eventually he had just given up and resolved to find the time when they were both back at work.

The wind had changed between them. He knew it, and he was sure she did too. As he sat down at his new desk in his new office, he found himself restless. This was unfamiliar territory, and he’d never liked being unsure of himself, but when he thought of her he still felt that strange, uncomfortable sense of anticipation that he didn’t quite dislike. It reminded him of the feeling he used to get before a quidditch match, anxiety and excitement and uncertainty all mashed in together.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned irritably as he reached for a memo.

***

Hermione returned from lunch to find a memo sat in the middle of her desk. That in itself wasn’t that surprising, but sitting there alone on her otherwise empty desk it looked expectant, as if somehow it was actively waiting for her. She shook her head impatiently. Stupid thought. Of course it was waiting for her, it was a message _sent to_ her. She put her bag down at sat down in her chair, trying to ignore the hum of excitement she felt at the prospect that it might be from him.

“Don’t be so silly,” she muttered to herself as she opened it up, but her stoicism abandoned her when she saw his handwriting, and she felt a smile tug at her lip.

_For once in my life I actually come down here for work and you’re busy on a social call, typical. I was supposed to drop off a file to you, but I suppose you’ll have to come here to get it now, I’m far too busy to traipse all the way back down there. _

_Fancy working late tonight?_

She smiled even as she shook her head exasperatedly. What a twat. Still, Ginny had a match this week, so she’d likely be at practice until late, meaning that Hermione might actually get away with ‘working late’ without getting the third degree when she got home late. She grinned and grabbed a blank memo and her pen.

_Well, I’d hate to intrude on what I’m sure is a terribly busy and important day for you, I suppose I will indeed have to drag my arse to your sad little office this evening._

She folded it up and sent it off before she could think too much about it. She’d already been thinking too much about him for the last few weeks, but alas, her concentration seemed doomed to falter. The rest of her day passed in a blur, though thankfully she actually did manage to concentrate for most of it. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she didn’t feel the same deluge of shame and uneasiness that she had before when they had made plans to meet.

It was after six when Hermione crept through the large room that was most of the Cursed Objects Department, it was mercifully empty, though she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was just waiting to jump out and catch her. So what if they did though? She was just finishing up a bit of work before heading home, nothing untoward there…

She reached the end of the long aisle of cubicles, and sure enough, right at the back of the room were a number of plain office doors. She scanned the names on the doors until finally, there it was; Draco Malfoy, Department of Mysteries Liaison. She was nervous, why was she nervous? The next door along was the Ladies’ room, for god’s sake, she wasn’t even sure if he was her equal in the Ministry’s complicated hierarchy, and certainly wasn’t her superior, she shouldn’t be nervous. But that was the sort of reasoning that would apply if she was actually here for work, which she was not, so she stood nervously for a second before taking a breath and finally knocking.

“Come in,”

She took another breath and opened the door. His office was tiny, she vaguely remembered him describing it once as a shoebox, and he hadn’t been wrong, there was barely enough room for him to comfortably move around his desk. Still, it appeared that he hadn’t had time to mess the place up yet, because despite its small size, it was tidy and the surfaces were clear. It was just as well he wasn’t one for decorating his office with family pictures and personal keepsakes, he’d barely have space to work at all with pictures cluttering up the surfaces.

“Granger,” he said, his lip curling as he reclined in his chair- as much as he could in the cramped space anyway.

“Malfoy,” she replied shortly, still feeling a bit on edge but smiling anyway. “Where’s this file then?”

“Straight to business, is it?” he said with a smirk. He stood up slowly as she took a step into the office.

“You know, you could have just come in to my office earlier,” she said, “Harry is aware that you exist, you know.”

“Yes well, that did occur to me after the fact,” he muttered, a tad irritably. He took a step towards her so that now they were barely a foot away from each other, “But then I wouldn’t have a flimsy, ready-made excuse to summon you here after hours, now would I?”

“_Summon _me?” she said, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at him. He took another step forward, reaching out to rest a hand on her hip.

“_Invite_ you, then,” he murmured, bending his head down so that his breath tickled her neck. “So what do you think of my swanky new office?”

“Swanky?” she spluttered, unable to repress a snort of laughter. He laughed too, and she found she liked the sound when it wasn’t at her expense.

“What, you’re telling me that having an office next to the loos _isn’t_ a sign of status?”

“Oh, it’s a sign of- a certain _type_ of status…” she said, smirking.

He chuckled, and ran his fingers down her neck, dragging his fingernails slightly. She felt her breath catch in her throat as a bolt of desire shot through her. He exhaled roughly, moving closer until she could feel his breath of her lips, the feather light touch of his hand at her waist. He smelled like coffee and some botanical scent she assumed was from his cologne. He leant around her to shut the door behind her, then he laughed, and she blinked for a second before leaning back, her hands on her hips.

“What?” she demanded. He just smiled widely and reached out as if he was going to cup her cheek, but instead pulled what turned out to be a stray pen from her bun. She sighed resignedly.

“Dare I ask how many are left in there?” asked Malfoy smugly, making a show of craning his neck to look at her hair from all angles.

“Oh, shut up,” she said, making a move to step around him, but he was faster, and with one hand on her waist, the other cupping her jaw he pulled her face to his.

Hermione felt as if a switch had flipped somewhere in her mind. Where just a few minutes ago had been nervousness and uncertainty, there was now an excitement that thrummed through her like electricity. His lips were soft but insistent against hers, his hands heavy and warm as he pulled her tight against his body. She sighed and linked her hands around his neck, content for now to just sit back and enjoy while he took the lead. His teeth teased at her lower lip and she smiled, burying one of her hands in his hair.

Suddenly there was a sharp knock at the door, so close to Hermione’s head that she physically jumped, letting out a rather embarrassing squeak of surprise. Malfoy froze.

“Malfoy, are you still here?” came a terse voice from the other side of the door.

“Uh, yeah,” said Malfoy tightly as they sprung apart, Hermione stepping aside and straightening her clothes. It was a good thing she did too, because the door opened, revealing an exhausted looking middle aged man. Hermione smiled tightly, trying her best not to look guilty.

“Oh, I didn’t-” he began, looking confusedly between them both, and though she’d never met the man, Hermione didn’t miss the flicker of recognition in his eyes as he gave her a nod of greeting.

“Granger’s just picking up the file for the cursed wine, I missed her earlier.” Said Malfoy quickly.

“Yes,” said Hermione, a little breathlessly, “Just thought I’d grab it before heading home,”

“Right,” said the man, now sounding too tired to care. “Just take a look at this when you get a minute, would you? I think it might be connected to the tinsel debacle.”

“Of course, I’ll give it a once over before I leave today.”

“Thanks, see you tomorrow, Malfoy,”

“See you.”

The man turned around and left the office, leaving the door open behind him. Hermione released the breath she’d been holding and rounded on Malfoy.

“What the fuck was that?” she hissed.

“What? How was I supposed to know he was still in?”

“I thought everyone was gone!”

“I hate to break it to you, Granger, but you’re not the only person who works late sometimes.” He snapped, “Anyway, what did you expect me to do; creep around checking all the offices were empty? That’s not weird or suspicious at all.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, feeling the pressure of a headache building behind her eyes.

“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you, you know-” he started after a small pause, but she shook her head wearily.

“Oh, it’s fine. It doesn’t matter, I’m just exhausted. But it’s nice that you actually have a door now,” she murmured, giving him a lopsided grin.

“It does have its advantages, yes,” he replied, though very quietly as the door was still open.

“I suppose so,” she sighed, “I’d better get home, Malfoy, plus you’ve got to read through that-”

“Ugh, I’ve no intention of staying even later slogging through that thing,” he said with a short laugh, “I won’t pretend I’ve got even a fraction of your legendary work ethic.”

“Oh, well then-”

“Do you want to go somewhere, Granger?” he asked suddenly, cutting her off.

“What?” she said, but her tone was rather sharper than she had intended in her surprise, and she cleared her throat awkwardly, glancing over her shoulder to still open door. He apparently took her meaning, because he lowered his voice.

“I could use a bit of air,” he said quietly, sighing and looking away as he spoke, “And I find I’m not in the mood for solitude.”

She didn’t say anything at first, her mind was whirring away analysing every possibility, but for once in her life she managed to shut it down. There was no point in panicking, so instead she shoved the file he’d given her into her bag and leant a tiny bit closer to him.

“What did you have in mind?”


	30. Testing the Waters

Hermione was hunched over against the cold, her face mostly hidden in her scarf as she wondered how on earth she got here. She was standing on a deserted corner a few streets over from the Ministry’s Visitor’s entrance, the bitter January wind whipped around her and her feet ached from standing around in her office shoes, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst part was that the reason that she was standing out in the cold rather than sitting at home in her pyjamas, was that she was waiting for Draco fucking Malfoy.

After their close call earlier with his boss, she had insisted they not leave together. He had scoffed and rolled his eyes at her, but agreed, and they chose a meeting place a little way from the Ministry to avoid anyone they knew seeing them. Actually, maybe _that _was the worst part; she couldn’t even complain about the cold, because she was the one who’d vetoed simply apparating straight from his office, worried as she was about people seeing them leave together. She had initially managed to avoid over-thinking it, but now she had nothing to do but lament the harsh weather and her aching feet, her mind happily settled into its usual routine.

Had he just asked her out? She didn’t think so, but she wasn’t sure they had ever actually spent time together when they weren’t either fooling around, dealing with serious emotional and psychological issues arising from their past, or having a blazing row. To be fair, the first and last usually went hand in hand, but even so, she wasn’t sure how to handle the idea of just hanging out together. But then she didn’t even know that was what he wanted, for all she knew he had just told her to wait here and now _he_ was sitting happy and warm at home, laughing over his expensive whiskey at her… No, she couldn’t believe that, he had to know that she’d have his guts for garters for that-

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash of blonde hair and she turned around to see him walking briskly towards her, shoulders squared against the wind. She let out a sigh of relief and started walking to meet him.

“Holy fuck it’s cold,” he said when they reached each other.

“Yeah well, it’s January,” she muttered through her scarf. “You said you wanted air.”

“Yes but _I_ wanted to apparate straight from my lovely, warm office, not traipse around the streets of London on a Tuesday night.”

“Oh, shut up,” she huffed, “Let’s just go, apparition point’s right there.”

They walked in silence to the apparition point, a shabby little alley between the imposing buildings of Westminster. She felt the slight change in air pressure as they passed through the disillusionment charm, and turned to face him. He offered his arm gallantly, and reluctantly she held on as they apparated away.

They reappeared in a forest of some sort, it was almost pitch black, and for one mad moment Hermione closed her hand over her wand just in case she had been led into an ambush.

“Where the fuck are we, Malfoy?” she asked tightly.

“Hampstead Heath,” he said, unperturbed by her unease, “The apparition point’s just hidden in some trees, it’s not this creepy in the daylight.”

“Mhmm, sure,” she said, still not fully convinced, “And why exactly are we out on Hampstead Heath in January?”

“Well, there used to be a quidditch pitch here, not professional or anything, just for people to play for fun or practice, but they moved it further into the country after a few too many close calls with muggle aircraft.”

“So?”

“This was before we went to Hogwarts, but they left some of the protective charms up for some reason, so this whole area’s- well, it’s not warm, but it’s a bit more sheltered at least. Plus there’s muggle repelling charms and stuff,” he grinned and grabbed her arm, “Come on, it’s only a few minutes to the treeline,”

“How do you even know all this?” asked Hermione, picking her way awkwardly over the wet ground and thoroughly regretting her choice of footwear, though to be fair, her shoes were perfectly appropriate for office work, which was all she thought she’d be doing today.

“Used to come to the quidditch pitch when I was a kid with my dad,” he shrugged. Hermione thought he might say something more, but he was silent as they approached the tree line, and she was relieved that the area beyond appeared to be at least sporadically lit with streetlamps. She was going to break her neck if she had to tramp through this dark wood in her flimsy pumps any longer.

She was just trying to remember whether or not she’d cast an impervious charm on her shoes when the trees abruptly stopped, and she found herself standing on a huge, grassy hill, it was mostly open, but patches of woodland bordered the space. At the bottom of the hill was more woodland, but above the trees glittered the London skyline, skyscrapers spiking up into the orange haze of the horizon, and above the haze the night sky stretched out above them. It was a clear night, and they were high up enough that she could even see a few stars courageously trying to twinkle through the smog.

“Quite the view, isn’t it?” said Malfoy, and she realised that she had been standing there for several seconds in silence.

“Er, yes,” she managed, “Yeah it’s wonderful.” She didn’t say what her initial impression was, because if she was honest, the first thing that had come into her mind when they had stepped beyond the trees was how very romantic it was. This was a scene right out of a rom-com. She chanced a sideways look at him, just in case, but he seemed oblivious to the atmosphere, leaning nonchalantly against a tree several feet away from her and looking contemplatively at the spectacular vista. 

“I come here sometimes to get some space, usually when I want to be alone,” he said, and she could hear the frown in his voice, though it was still too dark for her to see his face properly.

Hermione hummed noncommittally and shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. If he hadn’t literally brought her here she might have felt as if she was intruding on some personal, private place. Still, she felt uncharacteristically unsure of herself, she didn’t know what this situation was, it defied categorisation, and that made her nervous.

“The Manor’s just so- well, you know more than anyone.” He said quietly, “And then I’ve just been sitting at home for days going stir crazy.”

“I can imagine,” she murmured, “This is great though,”

“Yeah,”

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes, just stood and watched the twinkling lights of the city and listened to the distant roar of traffic, the howling wind beyond the protective enchantments.

“I appreciate you coming, Granger,” he said suddenly.

“I appreciate you sharing this with me,” she said quietly, but as soon as she said it she knew she shouldn’t have. It was too soft, too close, and even in the low light she could see his shoulders tense. She cleared her throat and laughed nervously. “But- look, I’m really sorry but it’s still bloody freezing and my feet are killing me-”

“Of course,” he grunted, taking a step into the wood and beckoning for her to follow.

They walked in silence until they reached the carved log that marked the apparition point, and when they stopped Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came to mind.

“Um,” she started, but he cut her off.

“Thanks for coming, Granger,” he said gruffly, giving her a stiff nod.

“Wait, just-”

“See you at work.” He said, and before she could say anything more he disapparated, leaving Hermione confused and alone.

She stood in shocked silence for several seconds before groaning and swearing loudly. Her first thought was that she had royally messed up the delicate balance between them, but her second thought said ‘fuck that’. Why should she feel guilty about saying something nice? He might be terrified of showing softness, but she wasn’t. In any case, it wasn’t as if she had professed her undying love to him or something, why did he always have to make her feel like she was the one being weird?

She swore again and apparated home, but when she appeared in her bedroom she found herself restless. She kicked off her shoes and paced the room a few times, occasionally muttering under her breath and getting more and more annoyed until finally she had enough presence of mind to get changed out of her work clothes. Where did he get off anyway, leaving her alone in a dark, deserted wood in the middle of the night? Obviously she could take care of herself, but that wasn’t the point. She scowled. She wasn’t going to sit here all night over-thinking everything and stewing about him. She stomped into the kitchen, made herself a sandwich and ate it. Then she squashed all of her mental objections and apparated straight to Malfoy’s house.

Malfoy nearly fell out of his chair when he saw her, spilling a generous slosh of what she assumed was whiskey over his lap.

“Merlin’s fucking balls!” He shouted, “Have you ever heard of knocking, Granger? You can’t just bloody appear in someone’s house unannounced!”

“You should have put wards up then.” She said shortly, folding her arms and glaring at him. “What the fuck was that about?”

“What was _what_ about?” he said, setting down his glass and standing up.

“You just disappearing without so much as a word and leaving me there in a random fucking forest? Ringing any bells?”

“First of all, it was twenty minutes ago so yes, it rings a bell,” he said dryly, “But secondly, I did say something! I said I’d see you at work-”

“Oh come on, you know what I mean-”

“I really fucking don’t.”

“Good _god_ you are infuriating!”

“_I’m_ infuriating? You just basically forced your way into my home and now you’re bloody berating me for something I don’t even know I’ve done!”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but now she was here her resolve was weakening. When she really thought about it all she was really mad about was how abrupt and uncommunicative he’d been, and well, she actually had technically forced her way into his home, even if it had been the magical equivalent of leaving his door unlocked… She looked away, suddenly a little unsure of herself, and if he had just stayed quiet she might even have backed off, but he didn’t. He never stayed quiet.

“You’re un-fucking-believable, you know that?” he hissed, “You preach all this bullshit about kindness and decency, but you’re really just-”

“Be careful, Malfoy,” she warned, but he just laughed bitterly.

“Why? Why should I be careful?” He sneered, “You barge in here angry at me for Merlin knows what-”

“I’m angry because we were having a perfectly pleasant evening, and I say one thing and just like that you’re off!” she snapped, her volume rising slightly. She saw him blink and look away, and she knew she had him. “You just left me there-”

“_That’s_ why you’re angry? Because I left you?” he said incredulously, but something about his mannerisms wasn’t quite convincing. There was an edge of discomfort which he was trying to hide with his anger.

“I’m angry because you were being an arsehole-”

“Yeah well you’re being a sanctimonious little-”

“-Don’t-”

“- bitch!”

Neither of them said anything, they just stood there, chests heaving with rage as they stared at each other. Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she was this angry, in fact, the last time was probably the first time they’d- oh shit.

“Take it back.” She hissed, fists clenched at her sides.

“No,” he whispered, glowering at her but taking a step forwards. She knew she should move away, but she was frozen to the spot, and she couldn’t bring herself to tear her eyes from his.

“Take it back, you piece of shit,”

He cocked his head as if she was some amusing diversion, sending a fresh wave of fury over her, and he leant forwards so that she felt his breath on her neck. She hated herself for it, but she shivered, and she saw him smile, a smug, self-satisfied little grin.

“I’ll take it back later,” he growled, and she stared at him in disbelief.

“You are such a-”

He silenced her with a kiss that took her breath away for a moment, but the moment was fleeting, and she let out a snarl of rage, taking his lip harshly between her teeth. He responded by grabbing her arse with one hand and thrusting his other hand into her hair, all the while kissing her with bruising, desperate urgency, teeth scraping and nipping at her lips. She groaned and pushed him away, shoving him hard in the chest so that he took a step backwards.

“Problem, Granger?” he asked, giving her a toothy grin which didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yes there’s a problem! Just- you don’t get to be- I’m not going to reward you for insulting me-”

“Reward me? I’m not a fucking dog-”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Oh, so what you’re saying is that I shouldn’t think the worst of you? That’s rich-”

“Don’t start-”

“Oh, she can dish it out, but she can’t take it,” he jeered, and she blinked, her anger receding for a moment behind a sudden unease.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” she whispered. “You sound-” she stopped herself, but they both knew what she was about to say.

_You sound like you used to_.

The words hung in the air between them, taunting and raw. A few minutes ago Hermione couldn’t wrench her eyes from his, but now she couldn’t bear to look at him. She was still angry, but now she felt embarrassed too, a fragment of old insecurities had slipped out, and it was so much worse than earlier. Earlier had just been a little softer than their general parlance, but this was mortifying. She looked up for a second and saw that he wasn’t looking at her either. She couldn’t read the expression on his face, but when he spoke his voice sounded strained.

“I might have overreacted a little earlier.” He muttered, “When I left you, I mean.”

She hummed approvingly, still not meeting his eyes, and then sighed. He really did bring out the worst in her.

“And I might have overreacted a little to your overreaction.” She said reluctantly, finally flicking her eyes up to meet his. They held eye contact for a few seconds before she looked away.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked after a few minutes of neither of them speaking. 

“No, I- I don’t know,” said Hermione, resisting the urge to wring her hands, “I should probably go,”

He looked at her for a long moment.

“Do you want to go?”

She looked up to meet his eyes and felt herself smile slowly.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly.

He took half a step towards her, smiling crookedly as he pushed a loose strand of hair from her face.

“Hermione Granger, unsure of something,” he husked, “I may die of shock.”

“You’re doing a shit job of persuading me, Malfoy,” she lied, and he chuckled, tilting his head as he looked down at her amusedly.

“You really can be quite extraordinarily spiteful, Granger,”

“Look who’s talking.” She huffed, her annoyance genuine this time.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he sniggered.

“Ugh, entirely the wrong direction, Malfoy.” She said shortly, wondering why she hadn’t left yet. “Just because _you_ don’t consider spite a negative personality trait doesn’t mean it’s not still an insult.”

“See now, I _should_ be insulted by that little veiled insult there, but I’m not, because despite my better judgement I happen to actually like it when you’re cutting. If that’s not a personality flaw, I don’t know what is.”

She gave him a deeply unimpressed look.

“That is really not any better, Malfoy. I’m going home.” She started to turn away from him, but he grabbed her arm.

“What if I said I liked the way you toss your hair when you’re annoyed?”

Hermione stopped, narrowing her eyes at him, but she saw no malice in his eyes, just a glint of mischief that was, despite everything, highly tempting. She sighed and folded her arms.

“Warmer.” She said, giving him a withering look, and she saw something in his expression change subtly. He leant back and folded his arms too, mirroring her pose and looking suddenly very entertained.

“Fishing for compliments are we?”

“Ice cold.” She snapped, and he rolled his eyes.

“Fine, I’ll bite. You’ve got a hell of a temper, Granger-”

“Still cold.”

“Shh, let me finish. It’s kind of like, uh-” he made a contemplative gesture with one hand as he apparently tried to find the words, “-It’s like going out in a storm; you know it’s probably a bad idea but even so there’s something exhilarating about it,”

Hermione blinked. She didn’t really know what she had expected, but it hadn’t been _that_. That was surprisingly, well, almost poetic, and to her surprise she had no scathing retort. Taking advantage of her silence, Malfoy took another step towards her, his lip curling.

“Warmer?” he asked softly, inclining his head towards her slightly.

“A little,” she managed, giving his shoulder a small poke, “Seems that under that smug exterior of yours beats the heart of a poet, who knew?”

He grimaced.

“What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” she said with a grin, and he leant closer so that their faces were only a few inches apart.

“Admit it though,” he said, his voice low and silky, “You like my exterior, even when it’s smug.”

“I will admit no such thing,” she said haughtily, but as she spoke she snaked her hand up over his shoulder to rest at the base of his neck.

“We’ll see about that,” he murmured, and finally leant down to press his lips to hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddamn but this chapter was an emotional rollercoaster. I'm trying really hard to balance their bickering with an actual begrudging affection for each other, and it is hard.   
Google Hampstead Heath to see the view if you've not been there, one of my favourite spots in the city :)


	31. The Illusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 31, in which I reeeeallly push that 'M' rating.  
AKA  
SMUT AHOY!

Hermione wasn’t quite sure how she got here. This whole evening had been a twisting, turning whirlwind of emotion and questionable decisions, and while she clearly remembered everything that happened, she still felt a little like her brain hadn’t quite caught up with the situation. Her body seemed to be doing just fine on its own though.

As soon as their lips met her body arched into him of its own volition, her hand tightening in his hair as she let out a soft sigh. He cradled her jaw in his hand, the other reaching down to grope her arse. She let out a sharp hiss and nipped lightly at his lower lip, spurring him to pull her even tighter. He held her close to him as he slipped his tongue past her lips and she hummed appreciatively, following his lead.

They stood like that for several minutes, content to simply stay where they were and enjoy the slowly intensifying hum of pleasure as their tongues curled and twisted together, their bodies pressed tightly against one another. His hand occasionally tightened on her arse, kneading and squeezing and coaxing little breathy sounds from her as he moved his lips in rhythm with his hands. Finally, he pulled away a fraction, pulling her lower lip between his teeth and watching her with such intensity that she almost looked away out of self-consciousness. He released her lip and she rolled her hips slightly, watching his eyelids flutter close for a moment as she rubbed against his erection. She grinned and reached down while he was distracted to sharply pinch his arse. He let out a surprised noise which was almost a yelp, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“What on earth was that?” she asked, giving him another squeeze for good measure. He really did have a fantastic arse. This time she didn’t have the element of surprise though, and he just chuckled, the noise rumbling through her chest, which was still pressed tightly against his.

“You’re in no position to laugh, Granger,” he said, sounding amused, “You don’t see me making fun of the noises _you_ make,” he leant down as he spoke so that his lips brushed her jaw.

“What? You make fun of _everything _I do!”

“Oh come on, slight exaggeration, don’t you think?” he murmured as he nibbled his way to her earlobe. He took it between his teeth and sucked, and Hermione let out a high-pitched gasp. “Ok, see me not commenting on _that_ noise? That’s me proving you wrong.” 

“Saying you’re not commenting on it _is_ commenting on it,” she managed, but he just chuckled again.

“I never said I didn’t_ like_ the noises,” he muttered, “Quite the contrary, I assure you,” and he ground his hips into her as if to illustrate his point, making her gasp again. He leant back down to her neck, and when he spoke again the tickle of his breath sent a shiver from her scalp right down to her toes.

“You know Granger, it’s a damn shame you’ve got your ‘not at work’ rule, because the thought of making you moan and shudder like that in your office- well,” he paused for a moment to bite her neck, swirling his tongue over the spot before continuing, “It’s distracting to say the least. Really does make me wish we had another room of requirement,”

He kissed her again, burying his hand in her hair and letting out a groan as his tongue slid against hers again. Hermione hummed thoughtfully when they pulled apart, running her hand over his torso and relishing the warm feel of his chest through his shirt.

“Well, if it was just a matter of being in a room that looked like my office, you wouldn’t need the room of requirement-”

“Huh?” he leant back slightly, frowning.

“Well,” she said, tilting her head and sucking her teeth contemplatively, “The room of requirement’s special in that it actually anticipates your needs and transforms _itself_ accordingly. If you only wanted to make a room look like another, specific place it’d really just be a matter of transfiguring-”

He cut her off with a crushing kiss that left her breathless, but he pulled away after just a few seconds, beaming and leaving Hermione slightly dazed.

“I can’t believe that didn’t occur to me,” he said.

“What?”

“About just transfiguring the room,”

“Well, I suppose you could even just create a temporary illusion if you only needed it for a limited time,” she mused, brain still stuck in academic curiosity mode.

“Merlin help me, I’ve never been more attracted to your swottiness than I am right now,” he growled, and she didn’t even have time to retort before his mouth had crashed to hers again.

This time she responded immediately, throwing her hands around his neck and kissing him back with reckless, clumsy abandon. Her hands roved impatiently over his back, his chest, pausing occasionally to cup his arse or thread her fingers through his hair, but never staying in one place for more than a few seconds. He seemed just as indecisive, toying with her hair one minute and reaching up to grope her breasts through her shirt the next, and when he finally broke the kiss he was panting, his chest rising and falling as if he’d run a marathon. She met his heated gaze, determined not to flinch.

“So um, do you want to-?”

“What I want is to run my tongue over every inch of that delicious body of yours until you’re fucking incoherent,” he growled, and she let out a small moan in response. She stood on tiptoes and leaned into his neck so that her lips just brushed his skin, scraping her teeth gently over where his pulse hammered.

“I actually meant; do you want to put up an illusion?” she murmured, “But that sounds delightful,”

“Any reason we can’t do both?” he panted as she pulled his shirt from his waistband.

“Don’t see why not,” she said, reaching to get her wand from her back pocket.

She took a slightly shaky step back from him, trying to get her brain in gear enough that she could actually perform magic. This was harder than she had anticipated, distracted as she was by the roar of arousal that thrummed through her, as well as Malfoy’s piercing gaze following her every move. He watched her hungrily, his expression intrigued yet eager as he shifted restlessly, the outline of his cock clearly visible through his trousers. She tried to return her attention to the spells as she murmured incantations, but she had a few false starts before she finally got into the swing of it, finally finishing with a flourish and a small sigh of relief. She watched as the room blurred around her, the colours and textures bleeding into each other like a watercolour until Malfoy’s opulent living room had disappeared, though the large leather sofa remained, looking very out of place in her much smaller, much plainer office.

“Not bad,” he muttered, looking around and tentatively running his hand over her desk, “It’s solid and everything, I’m impressed.”

“I’m pretty good at illusions,” she shrugged, but she was unable to hide the smug grin that spread over her face. She was fucking _excellent_ at illusions. She’d had to be when they were on the run, but- no, not now, now was not the time… she shook her head distractedly and tried to focus on the matter at hand.

She took a step towards him, slightly regretting changing out of her work clothes, if only for the sake of immersion. She hated to admit it, and she’d never actually want to risk doing it in real life, but now the two of them were standing in this facsimile of her office, she was outrageously turned on. His eyes were darkened as he watched her move closer, his expression almost wary, they did both still have their wands drawn after all.

“Worried I’m going to curse you?” she asked softly.

“Should I be?” he husked, still not taking his eyes off her and flexing his fingers around his wand. The motion distracted Hermione for a moment as she wondered for the millionth time how on earth she had ended up here, standing in front of Draco Malfoy with the full intention of fucking him senseless. Strangely, she found she didn’t care how or why, she was damn well going to do it anyway. She gave him a wide grin.

“Well that’s up to you, isn’t it?” she said, closing the distance between them. “It’s not all that difficult to stop me from cursing you, you’ve just got to not be a prick.” Her face was just a few inches from his, and she reached out slowly to pry his fingers off his wand, setting it down with hers next to them on her desk.

For a second it looked like he was about to give her some snarky reply, but he just smirked and lowered his face to hers, the caress of his lips soft and languid and_ wonderful_ as he slipped his hands under her shirt and she fumbled with his shirt buttons. She pushed his shirt over his shoulders and ran her hands over his chest with an appreciative hum, and she felt him smile against her lips. He broke the kiss to wrench her t-shirt up and over her head, and as he chucked it on the floor Hermione took a moment to take him in. He wasn’t exactly brawny, but he was definitely fit, lean muscles moving under pale skin, contrasting sharply with his charcoal trousers. He noticed her watching him and preened, a self-satisfied grin spreading over his features. He pushed his hair back ostentatiously, flexing and making his biceps stand out in a way she was sure was intentional, and she rolled her eyes.

“Oh sure,” he said, still smirking, “Nothing at all about this exterior that you like, right Granger?”

“You really are spectacularly arrogant,” she said, folding her arms.”It’s a miracle you ever manage to drag yourself away from the mirror each morning.”

“Oh please,” he murmured, moving closer to her, “Hermione Granger, you’re practically drooling.”

The sound of her full name sent a fresh bolt of lust through her, and while half of her still wanted to sniff haughtily and tell him not to be such a presumptuous, arrogant dickhead, the half that won out was far less verbose.

“Shut the fuck up, Malfoy,” she growled, pulling him into yet another searing kiss. 

Not breaking the kiss, he walked her back a step and reached behind her to sweep the papers off her desk , and even though she knew it wasn’t real, something in the back of Hermione’s mind still lamented the loss of her imaginary notes. He hoisted her up and sat her down on the desk, reaching behind her to undo her bra. She shrugged it off and his hands were on her in a flash, immediately cupping and squeezing and playing with her nipples until her head fell back and she let out a moan. His hands were warm and she could feel the slight calluses on his fingertips as he ran them over her sensitive skin. He leant down to take a nipple in his mouth, scraping his teeth gently over the sensitive skin before pulling back and eliciting a disappointed whine from Hermione, who had clenched her fist in his hair.

“Quite demanding, aren’t you?” he said, smirking at her, but something in his smug expression had made something snap inside her, and she sat up abruptly. She was sick to death of him constantly congratulating himself for turning her into an incoherent mess, not that she didn’t greatly enjoy it, but it was high time for the tables to be turned. She was going to wipe that self-satisfied smirk right off his face, and he was going to love every second of it.

“Sit down,” she said quietly, pointing to the desk chair behind him.

“What?” he said, looking over his shoulder and sounding confused.

“Draco,” she said, a little firmer this time, “Sit down.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, but didn’t object. He stood up, took a step backwards and sat down in the chair, eyeing her suspiciously the whole time. She stepped delicately down from the desk and tried not to feel self-conscious about the way he stared at her body. She leant down to press a short kiss to his lips, and then she slowly knelt down in from of him, and she could have sworn she heard him audibly gulp. She leant back on her heels and looked up at him.

This was the only part that usually made her uneasy, that implied subservience of kneeling before someone, and god, she had never in a million years though that she’d be willingly sitting in that position for him of all people, but as she looked up at him the expression on his face was surprisingly soft, almost reverential, and she felt her apprehension melt away. He said nothing as she undid the buttons on his trousers, just watched her, wide-eyed as if he was having trouble believing what he was seeing. She pulled his trousers open and cupped him through his boxers, and apparently this jerked him out of his reverie, because he quickly grabbed her wrist, and when he spoke his voice was hoarse, as if he hadn’t used it in weeks. 

“You don’t need- I mean, if you don’t want to-”

“I want to,” she said softly, flicking her eyes up to meet his, “Do you want to?”

“Yes- Fuck yes,” he said quickly, and she smiled, resuming her gentle stroking over his boxers, freeing him from the confining material after a few seconds.

She pushed down an errant surge of stage fright. She did want to do this, but it had been a long while, and she tried her best to imagine that she’d done it a thousand times with him. She pumped him a few times, then gave him a quick smile before she finally leant down and took his cock into her mouth. He let out a strangled groan and jerked slightly in the chair as she began to move. To her relief, though she had never done it with him before, she found herself easily falling into the rhythm, paying attention to his small movements and quiet moans. Much like everything she put her mind to, it seemed that meticulous (mental) notes were key. 

“Oh fuck,” he murmured, threading his fingers into her hair, “Fucking hell, Hermione,”

She had already been turned on when she’d started, and his low groans and gentle thrusts as she sucked him off had her squirming, tensing and rubbing her thighs together as she chased each tantalising spike of pleasure. Suddenly, he let out a sharp hiss and cupped her jaw in his hand, pulling her off him.

“Wait,”

“What’s wrong?” she asked breathlessly, searching his face for signs of pain or discomfort.

He said nothing at first, just studied her for a moment, swiping his thumb over her bottom lip and groaning quietly as she darted her tongue out to catch the tip of his finger. His voice was almost his usual drawl when he spoke, but his expression was one of earnest, desperate fervour, lust burning in his eyes.

“I want to feel it when you come,” he said, and the words seemed to take a long time to reach Hermione’s brain.

“Fuck,” she breathed, and suddenly they were a whirl of movement, hands scrabbling at each other’s remaining clothes.

She shimmied out of her jeans, and he stepped out of his trousers, half-sitting on the desk. She placed her hand on his chest, gently pushing him back until he was almost lying down, and they both climbed onto the desk. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but at this point she was so turned on that she would have done it on a bed of nails if it meant she would get to fuck him. She climbed on top of him, straddling him with her knees just about managing to rest on the edge of the desk as she positioned herself. Finally, she lowered herself onto him slowly, relishing every second of glorious sensation. He groaned, fingers biting into her hips as she rolled her hips and began to move. She was pretty overwrought already, and it didn’t take long before her breathy moans got louder and more desperate. She was vaguely aware of him swearing loudly, but when he reached between them to rub her clit she screamed, unprepared for the sheer force of the orgasm that slammed into her.

“You’re impossible-” he managed before she cut him off with a kiss, moaning into his mouth as she felt her body shudder through waves of pleasure. He bit her lip and let out a rumbling groan that seemed to vibrate through both of them.

“Fuck, Hermione,” he gasped, “Oh fuck…”

He let out a strangled shout, gripping her hips with white knuckles as his hips jerked and shuddered. He kept groaning for a while, his voice slowly quietening, becoming less fierce and throaty with each breath until finally he let out a heavy sigh and opened his eyes. She blinked down at him and smiled, her brain still hazy as desperate arousal began to be eclipsed by blissful exhaustion. He smiled back and let out a shaky laugh.

The next half an hour was something of a blur. At some point they separated, Hermione stepping down shakily and little clumsily from the desk. She didn’t remember who picked up their wands from the floor, but she remembered him reaching out to take her hand, fingers linking with hers as he apparated them straight to his bed. They lay naked on top of his sheets for who knew how long. She was half asleep, supremely comfortable lying curled around him as he sleepily twirled a lock of her hair around his long fingers. She shivered slightly as he let it fall down over her shoulders, and leaned back so she could face him. Neither of them said anything. He smiled groggily and started to fiddle with her hair again, his eyes closing in contentment.

It could have been minutes or hours before either of them spoke. Hermione had long since shut her eyes, the warm weight of his arm on her waist lulling her into drowsiness, but on the edge of her consciousness she heard him sigh heavily besides her, felt the mattress dip as he shifted his weight. When she opened her eyes she saw him staring up into the canopy of the bed, forehead creased into a frown.

“Did we fuck this up?” he said, in barely more than a whisper.

“What do you mean?” she murmured, and he started slightly, as if he hadn’t realised he had spoken out loud.

“I- thought you were asleep,”

“I woke up,” she said simply, and he frowned again. There was a long pause before he spoke again, and when he did his voice was so quiet she almost didn’t catch his words.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he whispered.

Hermione’s brain, already sluggish from all the outstanding sex, seemed to judder and screech to a stop. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew this was supposed to be a bad thing for some reason, but her stomach squirmed at his admission. She opened her mouth to say something, but he sighed and continued.

“This- it’s not supposed to be like this- I don’t know- I’m not supposed to want-” he stopped himself abruptly, his frown deepening.

She reached out and gently angled his jaw so that she could face him properly. She looked into his eyes and saw a desperate uncertainty in them. She didn’t need to imagine what was going through his head though, looking into those pale, troubled eyes was like looking into a mirror. She sighed and tried to pour all of her feelings into her words.

“I know.” She said, holding his gaze. “I-I don’t want to leave either.”

He looked away, and she knew that an understanding had passed between them. Not exactly a decision on how to proceed, but an acknowledgement that both of them knew that this thing between them had turned into something neither of them had expected to have to deal with. Hermione exhaled heavily and let go of his jaw.

“I’d better go,” she said softly, “Ginny will worry.”

“Sure,” he replied, not meeting her eyes.

She nodded and sat up, picking her way out of the room without another word. She dressed and apparated back to her empty flat before she could talk herself out of it. She flicked the lights on and fervently wished that Ginny really was home for her to talk to. She groaned and dropped heavily onto the sofa, staring into the middle distance and allowing the truth of the situation to wash over her.

She liked him. He liked her. They’d had incredible sex and then cuddled afterwards and it had been lovely. She could have lain there for days with him, except she couldn’t have. Tomorrow they would go back to work and be Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy again, and therein lay the problem.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so as you may have guessed it's going to be a wee bit angsty for a while. It physically hurt me ending the chapter like this, but sometime you've gotta do what you've gotta do, the course of true love never did run smooth.


	32. Stormy Weather

The next few weeks at work were the worst she’d had for ages. Hermione was afraid to make eye contact with him in case someone would figure them out, or at least she told herself that was why. The truth, she suspected, was far simpler, and far more embarrassing. She hated the idea of acting like some insipid, swooning damsel for anyone, and even more horrifying was the thought that she was acting like this because she _did _feel something for him, something more than begrudging respect or mere physical attraction. This was a problem, so she did the only thing she could think of that would negate the possibility of her acting on these feelings: she avoided him. He was avoiding her too, and awkward situation aside, the experience certainly showed how little he actually had to interact with her for work. How on earth had he ever managed to get anything done before when he was down here every ten seconds for no reason other than to flirt?

Maybe they should have talked more before she had left, but she knew in her heart of hearts that if she hadn’t left when she did, she’d have stayed there all night. That wouldn’t in itself have been such a tragedy, but the moment he had said that he didn’t want her to leave she had known she was in trouble. She had come to terms with the fact that she sometimes wanted to fuck him senseless, but she simply didn’t know how to deal with wanting to eat breakfast together and kiss him goodbye in the morning.

Nearly two weeks passed without incident, and Hermione had almost begun to feel normal again, until he came to her office to debrief her on another cursed object that was being turned over to the Department of Mysteries, and the moment her office door opened to reveal his sullen face she suddenly realised two things. She definitely wasn’t back to normal, and this wasn’t going to be fun. He was wearing his usual sneer, and his disdainful sniff as she motioned for him to take a seat was evidence enough that he wasn’t going to make this easy. She didn’t believe his disdain to be genuine, but that wasn’t to say that his performance didn’t irritate her. She didn’t say anything though, just let him say his piece about the cursed mirror and very occasionally stopped him to ask a work-related question. This approach seemed to be working well enough until he let out a derisive snort of laughter at one of her comments, and something about the sound sparked her ire, despite her best efforts stay calm and collected.

“Is something funny, Malfoy?” she asked coldly.

“Not in the slightest,” he said, lazily inspecting his fingernails and looking thoroughly bored. “I simply didn’t expect you of all people to ask such an absurd question.”

“Oh, you’re feeling particularly petty today are you?” she snapped, “It was not absurd. You are just being deliberately obtuse, and I’ll ask you to kindly quit it please.” 

“Well, far be it from me to question Hermione Granger, the wise and mighty oracle of truth,” he shot back, waggling his fingers sarcastically and scowling, “Cut us lowly peons some slack will you? We can’t all be as spectacularly intelligent as you.”

“Oh shut up,” she said sharply, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, you weren’t trying to assert control over an uncomfortable situation by demeaning my intelligence?”

“I- what? No! That’s not it at all-”

“Ugh, you can’t even admit it, aren’t you supposed to be courageous or something?”

“What is wrong with you?” she glanced over his shoulder to double check the door was still shut, and narrowed her eyes at him, lowering her voice, “Why are you acting like this? I know last time got a bit-”

“Last time was wrong, Granger, you know it, I know it.”

“What-”

“This how things are supposed to be. You and I weren’t built for anything else.”

She stared at him, but his eyes were hard and cold, his jaw set. She shook her head in disbelief.

“So, let me get this straight, you’re consigning me to a lifetime of pathetic insults and incessant, infantile jabs because you’re all bent out of shape about a bit of _cuddling_?!” she could feel her volume rising, but it was worth it because finally she saw a glimmer of something other than controlled indifference behind his eyes, if only for a moment.

“You weren’t complaining about my conduct all the other times,” he said, flashing her a toothy grin that was entirely devoid of humour, and shrugging in an admirable, but not quite convincing imitation of nonchalance.

“Hah! I did complain, frequently and emphatically! But knowing you I’m not overly surprised that you weren’t paying attention to someone else’s feelings.”

“Oh please, you loved every second of it,” he said nastily, “Unless you’re telling me that you were faking all this time, Granger? I mean I could handle you faking an orgasm but I thought all that rage was just for me.”

She balked at him, sheer shock eclipsing her growing fury for a moment. The moment passed though, and she clenched her fists under the desk and glared at him.

“You know full well that I didn’t fake a fucking thing, Malfoy,” she hissed, though she was beginning to regret engaging him at all. It was obvious that he was arguing for the sake of arguing, but she couldn’t let it go, not just yet anyway.

“Oh, well isn’t that a lovely balm to my bruised ego,” he wheedled, pouting at her mockingly for a second before folding his arms and scowling again. “Anger is our thing, Granger, and it’s our _only_ thing. Deal with it.”

“Yes, but I don’t _like_ being angry!” she protested, feeling her volume rising again, “I can’t- I don’t want to be angry all the time, Draco-”

“Don’t.” he cut her off, for the first time in this conversation sounding as if he might be as angry as she was. “Don’t fucking start, Granger-”

“Don’t start what?” she demanded, standing up and slamming her hands down on the desk between them, “You’re pathetic, you know that?”

“Oh _I’m_ pathetic-” He started, but she cut him off. She had started now, and she was damn well going to finish.

“Shut up.” She snapped, “You are lashing out like a goddamn child throwing a tantrum and you know what? It’s an ugly fucking look on you, Draco.”

“Fuck you,” he hissed.

“You come in here all snappy and sour as if not a day’s passed since you were calling me a mudblood at Hogwarts. As if you’re utterly incapable of civility beyond acting like a pathetic little schoolyard bully. Well I’m not thirteen anymore, Draco, I’m a grown woman, and I can see right through you.”

“I’m not-”

“No, you know what? I don’t even care anymore, just get the fuck out.”

“You can’t just-”

“Get out of my office , Malfoy!”

“Fine!” he yelled, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “With fucking pleasure!”

“Good! Just fuck off then!” she shouted, pointing at the door.

He stood up abruptly, making the chair topple over behind him as he stomped over to the door, wrenching it open to reveal Harry, standing awkwardly just outside her office, having clearly been patiently waiting for her meeting to finish.

“Argh, why are you _always here?!”_ Snarled Malfoy, fists clenched at his sides.

“You what?” said Harry, sounding genuinely confused.

“Just get out of my way, Potter.” He snapped, shoving past him with a bit more force than was necessary, and stalking off down the hallway, leaving Harry standing in the doorway looking utterly baffled. Hermione just stood behind her desk, her chest heaving with rage, her hands still firmly planted in front of her. She knew she should say something, but her mind was utterly blank as Harry stepped into her office, closing the door carefully behind him.

“I don’t know whether to be concerned or impressed,” he said, picking her other chair up off the floor and taking a seat. Hermione let out a shaky, slightly bitter laugh.

“Damned if I know,” she muttered, finally dropping back into her desk chair and closing her eyes as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I-I lost my temper.”

“You don’t say.” Deadpanned Harry.

“Oh shit, could you hear-?”

“I mean, I was only there for about thirty seconds, but it was pretty obvious that neither of you were having a good time, yeah,”

“Oh god…”

“But if you’re asking if I heard what you actually said, then no. Well, except for right at the end when you told him to fuck off, which- I mean, I enjoyed it immensely of course, but I’ve not seen you fly off the handle like that for years. What _happened,_ Hermione?”

“I- actually, I’m not entirely sure,” she sighed, “Just Malfoy being Malfoy, I suppose, then I called him on his shit and he cranked up the-the ‘Malfoyness’ and I lost my temper…”

Harry gave her a long look, then cocked his head thoughtfully.

“Well that’s… frustratingly vague.” He said, and Hermione glowered at him.

“Harry, I am _really_ not in the mood to be analysed right now. He was being an arsehole, leave it at that.”

“Look, I don’t find it hard to believe that Malfoy pissed you off, but a shouting match in the middle of work? You looked like you were ready to head-butt him. Even me and Ron haven’t gone that far-”

“Yet.” She muttered tetchily.

“Well sure,” he conceded, giving her a very small smile, “And to be fair neither of us actually have to work with him, but what do you want me to say, Hermione? You’re my friend and I’m _worried_ about you.”

“You’re _worried_? Oh honestly Harry, there’s really no reason to be-”

“Don’t give me that, you’ve not been yourself for weeks, and apart from a few notable exceptions, you’ve never been the type to fly off the handle like that, especially when it’s just Malfoy being generally aggravating. I just- I don’t understand why you’re being so secretive, and it’s making me think that something serious is going on.”

Hermione sighed. He was right about her not being herself, and she could see how her continued evasiveness was making him suspicious, but she wasn’t ready to completely spill the beans yet. In fact, if it was properly over between her and Malfoy as she suspected, she might even just about get away with never telling the whole truth. She didn’t want to think that far ahead though, and she sighed again, trying to think of the best way to put it.

“It really is nothing serious, Harry,”

“You say that, but-”

“Look, just- Fine. I was seeing someone, now I’m not, simple as that.”

Harry sighed, and his expression softened.

“Shit, Hermione, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“I did suspect that might be the case though,”

“Ugh, then why the interrogation?” she huffed exasperatedly.

“Oh come on, can you blame me?” he said, raising his eyebrows and holding his hands up in a placating gesture, “I thought it _might_ be something like that, but you were being so twitchy and evasive, I was worried it was something- you know- worse.”

Hermione wondered if he would consider the situation as ‘something worse’ if he knew the whole truth, but the thought wearied her, and she pushed it to the back of her mind. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling the last muted tendrils of her anger from earlier ebb away.

“No, I suppose I can’t blame you,” she sighed, “I’m just- I’m bloody exhausted, Harry. I mean, it was fun while it lasted, you know? But with the secrecy and the stress- I’m just exhausted.”

“I get it,” said Harry, nodding sadly, “Can I ask why the secrecy though?”

“We work together, didn’t want gossip, didn’t want to put any extra pressure on it,” she said casually, shrugging and hoping that she wasn’t overdoing it with the nonchalance. It wasn’t a lie, not exactly.

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” He said, “So what- Malfoy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“Pretty much,” she mumbled, feeling incredibly guilty. That one _was_ a lie. He didn’t seem suspicious though, which somehow just made it worst. He nodded again and stood up.

“I came down here to invite you to lunch, but I get it if you’re not in the mood.”

“Thanks, Harry, I think I’d rather just try and wind down a bit, concentrate on my work.”

“Makes sense, but do you fancy coming to ours for dinner tonight? Susan’s off visiting family, so it’ll just be the three of us- well, the four of us if Ginny comes.”

“That actually sounds lovely,” said Hermione, smiling.

“Good, I’ll see you tonight then?”

“Yeah, sure,”

He stood up and stepped around the desk to pull her into a quick, one-armed hug.

“Thanks, Harry,” she murmured, and he smiled and nodded before turning around and leaving her office.

Hermione sighed heavily, profoundly glad to have the friends she did. It seemed pretty clear that whatever there had been between her and Malfoy, it was over now, and while the thought of not having to keep lying to her friends was a cheery one, she couldn’t help but feel sad all the same.

***

That evening, Hermione left work at five on the dot, which was a true rarity, and when she got home she found to her surprise that Ginny was already home. Apparently her teammates had decided that they didn’t want her cold and forced her to take a few days off, and Hermione couldn’t blame them. Though Ginny had been saying for days that she was fine and it was nothing, her nose was red and she was having trouble pronouncing her ‘n’s.

Hermione chivvied her into bed when she got home, plying her with promises of tea and pepperup potion to get her out of the living room, which was strewn with tissues, blankets and empty mugs. She boiled the kettle and tried to remember if she had any pepperup potion left from the last time the flu was making the rounds. She could always just brew some more, but it wouldn’t be ready for a good few hours, and Ginny, grouchy and congested, was not the most enjoyable companion. Suddenly, a knock on the front door jerked her out of her daydream, and she went to answer it after setting out two mugs in front of the kettle.

She didn’t know what she expected, but when she opened the door to reveal Draco Malfoy standing on her doorstep she had to blink several times to convince herself that he was real. He looked wretched, his hair seeming limp and dull in the muted light of the hallway, his eyes downcast.

“Malfoy what- what are you doing here?” she managed when her brain finally caught up to the situation

“Can I come in?” he asked, not meeting her eyes.

“Not if it’s going to be a repeat of that fucking display from earlier.” Said Hermione, folding her arms tersely.

“I- no, I shouldn’t have- I don’t want that.”

Hermione looked at him for a long moment, until finally she sighed reluctantly and stepped aside, waving him inside.

“Fine,” she said in clipped tones, “But Ginny’s in,”

“Oh uh, ok, I can go. I just- I’d better go,”

Unfortunately, Ginny chose that exact moment to come out of her room.

“Hermione? Who’s at the door?”

Hermione turned around just in time to see her spot Malfoy in the doorway. She froze on the spot, blinking as if she was concerned he might be a hallucination, but then her expression morphed terrifyingly quickly from sleepy befuddlement into barely controlled fury. She was still wearing her pink pyjamas and slipper-socks, which made the overall effect slightly less formidable, but even so, out of the corner of her eye Hermione thought she saw Malfoy take half a step backwards.

“I’d better go,” he mumbled, but it was too late, Ginny strode purposefully to the door and with her red hair flying in a messy halo around her head and the grumpy expression on her face, Hermione was reminded for one bizarre moment of Crookshanks.

“And what the fuck are _you_ doing here?” demanded Ginny, elbowing past Hermione so she could stare him down.

“I-”

“Never mind, I don’t care. Make me a cuppa would you, Hermione? I’m going back to bed.”

“Sure,” said Hermione meekly as Ginny turned on her heel and stalked back to her room, giving Malfoy a venomous glare before slamming the door behind her.

They stood in silence for a minute before Hermione sighed and beckoned him in.

“Come on,” she said tiredly, turning around and trudging back into the living room.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” asked Malfoy dryly from behind her.

“As safe as it’s ever going to be. That actually went better than I expected.” she sighed, shrugging, “Look, do you want a cup of tea or not?”

“I- fine, sure.”

She let him in and went to the kitchen to boil the kettle. She bustled around for a few minutes getting mugs and teabags, anything to avoid dealing with the Malfoy shaped problem that was currently sitting awkwardly in her living room. It suddenly occurred to her that the last time he was here was that fateful night when Ginny had come home unexpectedly and seen their clothes thrown haphazardly about the place. She groaned and poured the water over the teabags.

“How do you take your tea?” she called, but there was no reply. She took a step back and craned her neck through the doorway to see him standing about three feet from the front door, looking every inch the fish out of water. She smiled despite herself and leaned against the doorframe. “Malfoy?”

“What?”

“Sit down for god’s sake; you’re making the place look untidy.” She said briskly, though as soon as she said it she noticed how untidy the place actually was. She suddenly fervently wished that the she hadn’t put her socks out to dry on the radiators, but at least it wasn’t her underwear. Far more disturbing though, was that Malfoy stood amongst an orgy of evidence that there was someone sick in the house, from the bin full of discarded tissues to numerous fluffy blankets that still covered the sofa. She watched as Malfoy sat down stiffly on the sofa, looking so deeply uncomfortable that it was almost amusing. He wasn’t accusing her of trying to infect him with the plague though, so she supposed she should be grateful.

“How do you take your tea?” she repeated.

“Oh, you mean me?” he said distractedly, “I thought you were talking to-”

“I know how Ginny takes her tea,” said Hermione, folding her arms and attempting a small smile, “Relax, will you? If she was going to hex you she’d have done it by now.”

“I’m just not sure I want to test that theory,” he muttered.

“Well too bad.” She scoffed, “I’ve already made you a cup and I’m not going to chuck out a perfectly good cup of tea, so you’ll just have to endure. In any case, if I were you I’d worry about whether _I’m _ going to hex you.”

“Oh fine. Milk, two sugars.”

“_Two_ sugars?” exclaimed Hermione before she could stop herself, a forgotten vestige of growing up with dentists.

“Merlin, you’d think I’d killed a puppy…” muttered Malfoy, scowling and slumping down in the sofa.

“Sorry, knee-jerk reaction,” she said quickly, retreating back into the kitchen to finish the tea. She set down hers and Malfoy’s on the coffee table and brought Ginny’s to her room, knocking gingerly.

“Gin? I’ve got your tea,”

“Fine, come in.”

Hermione slipped into her room, closing the door behind her. Ginny was sitting up in bed with a magazine, and she thanked Hermione quietly as she set down the mug on the bedside table.

“I don’t know why he’s here,” said Hermione quickly, “I’m sorry-”

“You don’t need to apologise,” sighed Ginny.

“But-”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it, Hermione, it’s not your fault. It’s just- You’ve had all this time to come to terms with everything together, all these intimate little rendezvous where the two of you had a chance to air your shit and talk it out, but the rest of us haven’t had that.”

“I know,” whispered Hermione.

“I think the last time I saw him was the battle of Hogwarts,” she said with a grimace, “Cowering with his vile parents like a pathetic little- while we- while Fred…”

“Oh, Ginny,” Hermione rushed over to the bed, sitting down next to her and pulling Ginny into a hug. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think-”

“Really, it’s not- you don’t have to apologise,” said Ginny thickly, “I just didn’t expect him to turn up on my doorstep like a lifesize reminder of- of everything.”

“That makes sense,” murmured Hermione as Ginny sniffed loudly into her shoulder.

“Just- just go and sort your shit out, I’m fine, really.” She said after a few minutes, pulling herself from Hermione’s arms and smiling bravely. “Just don’t take too long, ok?”

Hermione nodded silently, giving Ginny a small smile before standing up and moving to the door.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” she asked, hand on the handle.

“Yes, I’m sure, go.” Said Ginny firmly.

Hermione smiled again and opened the door gently, shutting it behind her as she stepped back into the living room. The two mugs were still sitting and steaming on the coffee table, but Malfoy was gone.

“Hermione,” came a voice from her left. She whirled around to see Harry standing by the floo, looking utterly shell-shocked and holding a container that she assumed was full of some sort of soup for Ginny.

“Harry,” she gasped, “You scared me!”

“Hermione,” he said quietly, “Would you explain to me why Draco Malfoy was sitting in your living room?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit, son. It's going down.  
Draco's character in this chapter is basically just the song 'I'm not in love' by 10cc played on repeat. 
> 
> P.S. I wrote Ginny having a cold like 2 weeks ago when it was just a silly background joke, now it seems a bit too topical and I apologise if it ruined anyone's escapism :P


	33. Coming Clean

Hermione was frozen like a deer in the headlights as Harry watched her. Her blood ran cold and her brain alternated between forgetting how to speak English and frenziedly rifling through increasingly flimsy excuses. She was strangely hyper-aware of the sound of the rain on the windows, the warm, rich aroma of the food that Harry was still holding. Harry just stared, his face completely expressionless.

“I- um…” she began, but just opened and shut her mouth for a few seconds as she tried and failed to find the words. Harry just watched her carefully, and it was his lack of reaction that disturbed her. She knew that look, and she knew that this time she wouldn’t be able to get away with anything less than the whole truth. The jig was finally up.

There was a shuffling noise from the room behind her and Ginny poked her head around the door, took one look at the standoff between Hermione and Harry, swore under her breath and retreated back into her bedroom without another word.

“Hermione?” prompted Harry, raising his eyebrows expectantly and sounding like he was trying very hard to stay calm.

“I- Shit. Oh god, just sit down Harry,” she sighed, holding out her hand towards him, “Here, I’ll put the soup in the kitchen.”

“Ok. Fine.” he said tightly, handing her the plastic container. She nodded mechanically and when she returned from the kitchen she found him sitting on the sofa, looking up at her blankly, still wearing his winter coat and shoes.

“Um, do you want some tea?”

“Hermione!” he exclaimed, letting out a short, slightly manic laugh, “I’m begging you, please just sit down and tell me what the hell is going on.”

“Ok,” she said, taking a step towards the sofa and faltering. “Fine, ok,” she muttered, then took a deep breath and forced herself to sit down next to Harry. When she didn’t say anything more, however, he made an impatient noise and shifted restlessly next to her.

“Ok,” he said, frowning and pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses, “So I brought chicken soup for Ginny, and I step out of the floo, and there’s Malfoy sitting on Ginny’s- this fucking fluffy blanket thing, sipping tea out of a _Chudley Cannons_ mug, normal as anything. You were explaining to me why this was the case.”

“I um, I assume he disapparated?”

“Yes he did. Stared at me like _I _was the one out of place, then put the tea down and just fucking disappeared without a word.”

“Of course he did…” muttered Hermione.

“Now, since Ginny is basically a Catherine wheel of bodily fluids at the moment, I very much doubt he was here for her-”

Hermione snorted into her tea, unable to suppress a shocked laugh, but Harry continued.

“Anyway, I don’t think she’s even been in the same room as him since the war, whereas you were yelling at him at the top of your lungs just a few hours ago-”

“Fine, yes, he was here for me.” said Hermione in a very small voice, and Harry sighed heavily, looking a tiny bit satisfied, but mostly just concerned.

“And earlier?” he asked.

“He was there for work, but-”she stopped abruptly, looking up into Harry’s earnest green eyes, seeking reassurance to spur her to tell him the horrible truth, but all she felt was paralysing terror, and she shut her mouth, looking down at her tea on the table in front of them. _Coward. _She hadn’t even thought about which mugs she’d used, and despite the seriousness of the situation, somewhere in the back of her mind she was amused at the thought of Malfoy drinking out of that hideous, orange Chudley Cannons mug that Ron must have left here god knows how long ago.

“Hermione.” Said Harry sharply, clearly noticing her mind wandering, and when she looked up she saw that his expression had softened slightly. “Hermione, what’s going on?”

Hermione let out a breath, a short, nervous explosion of air that did very little to calm her. _Just say it all in one breath,_ she thought, _just shut your eyes and blurt it out, just-_

“It’s him,” she said in a rush of breath, “I mean, he’s the person that I was- shit- So um, when I said I was seeing someone, I- well, I wasn’t so much _seeing someone_ as I was… well, having sex with someone. With him. We were- I’ve been sleeping with Malfoy.”

Silence followed. A heavy, stifling silence that made the whole room feel as if it had suddenly dropped into a black hole. Hermione didn’t dare look at Harry, she just stared down at her knees, feeling thoroughly ashamed of herself. It wasn’t even really that she was ashamed of the act itself, but now she had come clean she could feel the weight of every small lie over the last few months, each surreptitious excuse or casual omission suddenly piling up into a mountain of mistrust between them. He was her best friend, and even when he’d known something was up he hadn’t pressured her, and it had taken him literally catching Malfoy in her flat to finally push her to telling him the truth. Some Gryffindor she was.

It felt like hours before Harry finally spoke, and when he did it his voice had a strange, faraway quality to it.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” he murmured, “I- a few times lately I thought- but it was crazy- like, literally insane, and I felt guilty for even _thinking_ that you would-_Shit._”

Hermione had nothing to say, and she hung her head.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said after another lengthy silence. “I feel like I have a million questions but I don’t think I actually want to know the answers.”

“I don’t know what to say either.” She whispered, and she felt him slump into the sofa next to her as he let out a long sigh, raking his hands through his already messy hair.

“I’m trying to keep my cool here, I really am. I mean, you know I love you, Hermione, but what the _fuck._”

“I know,” she whispered.

“Him? Really? I can’t even- the entirety of the wizarding world out there and you… _him?!_”

“I don’t- I don’t think I have an answer for you, Harry,”

“I- Jesus. Ok, I’m so sure I’m going to regret asking, but just _how_?”

“Erm, well, I know it sounds ridiculous, and I hate when people say this; but it really did just sort of _happen_.”

“You’re right, that does sound ridiculous.” He said flatly. “Are you trying to tell me that you just woke up one morning and thought; ‘hey, I know what I’ll do today, I’ll hop into bed with Draco fucking Malfoy’?”

“No, of course not! I- look, Harry, do you actually want to hear exactly how it happened?”

“Not really,” he said grumpily, “But I think at this point I have to know.”

“Ok, well, fair warning, I’m pretty sure there’s literally no way to do this without it being hideously awkward for both of us.”

“I think that ship has sailed, Hermione,” said Harry dryly.

“Good point,” she muttered, “Fine, just let me say first that if I didn’t genuinely think that Malfoy doesn’t believe all that pureblood nonsense anymore, there’s absolutely no way we’d be having this conversation. I probably wouldn’t even have passed him in the Muggle Integration Program if I thought-”

“Oh right,” he scoffed bitterly, “So he’s just good now, just like that?”

“Not just like that,” said Hermione carefully, “It’s been a long road for all of us, and blame aside, I don’t think even you can deny that he’s seen some horrific stuff-”

“Yeah, but-”

“I know, Harry- _he_ knows. He knows he picked the wrong side, he knows full well what he’s done, what he set in motion, and I-I genuinely believe he knows how wrong it was.” She chanced a sideways look at Harry, who had folded his arms over his chest like a sulky child. He looked pretty sceptical, but said nothing, so Hermione continued. “Having said that, he was- is still a bit of an arrogant bastard, no doubt about it-”

“Exactly!” he exclaimed triumphantly, “So-”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Harry, will you let me finish?”

“Fine.”

“Anyway, so he just kept pushing my buttons like- well, you know what he’s like. I was so insanely angry and we just kept on arguing and arguing, then suddenly we were just sort of… kissing.” She trailed off and looked down, not daring to meet his eyes.

Harry said nothing, in fact he looked a bit queasy, and he leant forwards to cradle his head in his hands as if Hermione had just told him someone had died.

“He _kissed_ you?” he asked incredulously, his voice muffled by his hands.

“Well, no-”

“You kissed _him?”_

“Not exactly, it was just- it was more like we were arguing one second, and then the next we were just-”

“_Kissing?!”_

Hermione just sighed and nodded, and he looked up abruptly.

“When was this?” he asked sharply.

“Um, well that was the last day of the Muggle Integration-”

“_What?!”_

“But then we didn’t say a word to each other for like, four months,” said Hermione hurriedly, “And we um, we just snogged for about ten minutes that day, we didn’t… do anything else.”

“I think I’m going to be sick…” Said Harry weakly.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” she whispered, feeling tears prick at the corner of her eyes.

“Oh for- no don’t apologise,” he said, sighing heavily, “Please don’t cry, Hermione, I’m not- I mean, it’s not like you slept with Ginny.”

Hermione let out a slightly teary laugh.

“I’m still sorry for lying to you,” she said quietly, “This whole thing is such a mess.”

“Hard to argue with that,” muttered Harry.

“I mean, we both knew it was a terrible idea every step of the way, but it was just so much- fucking hell, I know how crazy this sounds, but it was just so much _fun_. I suppose I just thought; we’re both consenting adults, we’re both single, where’s the harm? But nothing’s ever that simple, is it?”

“Not where Malfoy’s concerned.” Said Harry, and Hermione couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter.

“Truer words were never spoken.”

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes, Hermione eventually taking a sip of the tea she’d made earlier and wrinkling her nose when she found out that it was depressingly lukewarm.

“Are you sure you don’t want a cup of tea?” she asked, “This is grim, I might make another.”

“To be honest I wouldn’t mind something stronger,” said Harry with a grimace, “Do you have any firewhiskey?”

“We finished off the Ogdens at New Year, but we’ve got normal, muggle whiskey,”

“Just a small one then,”

“Sure,”

She went to the kitchen, started boiling the kettle, then turned it off and poured two glasses of whiskey. If anything called for a stiff drink, it was this situation. She poured away her and Malfoy’s tea from earlier and returned to the other room, setting the whiskey down on the table in front of them. They both took a large sip, drinking in silence until finally Harry piped up.

“Ok, question number two; who did Ron and I use the polyjuice potion to impersonate in second year?”

Hermione frowned and shook her head in confusion, baffled by the sudden change of subject.

“I-what?”

“Answer the question, Hermione,” he said firmly, then understanding dawned on Hermione and she glared at him.

“Jesus, Harry, I’m not an imposter, and I’m not bloody imperiused! I am in full control of my mental faculties, and you and Ron impersonated Crabbe and Goyle because you were convinced- mistakenly, I might add- that Malfoy was the heir of bloody Slytherin.”

“I’m sorry, but I had to ask,”

“Ugh, and even if I _was _imperiused I would still just say I was myself.” She snapped, “Don’t you have a detection field for the imperius curse at the Auror Office now? Wouldn’t I have set it off half a dozen times last week alone?” 

“Wait, how do you know about that?”

“Department of Mysteries.” She huffed, sticking her nose in the air. “I have access to a load of classified stuff now.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, fine, you’re right,” conceded Harry, sighing heavily.

“Of course I’m right.” She muttered, folding her arms.

“But in fairness, this is pretty much the very definition of ‘acting strangely’. You know I had to ask.” He said grimly.

“I didn’t realise my personal life warranted such scrutiny.” She said icily, “Would you still be checking me for the imperius curse if it were someone else, or would you trust my judgement as long as it wasn’t _him_?”

“I- you’re right.”

“I know.”

“Sorry, Hermione, it’s just- it’s so-”

“Weird, I know,” she sighed, “You’re preaching to the choir, believe me. This is without a doubt the weirdest thing I have ever done, and that includes spending most of third year hopping back and forth in time.”

He chuckled tensely, but seemed to relax slightly when she gave him a tiny, rueful grin.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking contemplatively into his whiskey, “It’s still like, completely bat-shit crazy, don’t get me wrong, but- well, a few things kind of make sense now.”

“Huh? Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, “Nothing really concrete, but little things, like well, for one thing it explains why every time I see him in your department he always looks really pleased with himself until he actually spots me, and he always seems to be on the corridor with your office on it. Then there’s that time Ginny kicked me out to speak with you, then was really weird and shifty when I asked her about it later.”

“Oh,”

“Plus, I heard your boss complaining about how Malfoy kept coming down in person when he could have sent a memo. Then there was-”

“Ok, I get the idea.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

It was another few minutes before Harry broke the silence.

“But- Ok, let me get this straight; you two were having a sort of- casual fling? Have I got that right?”

“Um, pretty much,” _We were trying to, anyway_, she thought.

“Ok, but then you had an argument today and ended it?”

“No, that was just the first time we’d seen each other since we ended it.”

“So why was he here just now in the flat?”

“I- I’m not sure,” she said slowly, “I think he might have wanted to apologise for his behaviour earlier-”

“Ok that’s the most unbelievable thing I’ve heard yet.” Scoffed Harry, “I haven’t heard that man apologise once in the whole- god, nearly fifteen years I’ve known him. Not sincerely, anyway.”

“Fifteen years, that’s depressing…”

“Yes, that’s exactly my point.”

“He’s apologised to me.” she said, very quietly, “Several times in fact.”

Harry opened his mouth, about to give her some snarky retort, but he shut it with a snap and just looked at her for a few seconds.

“You’re really fucking with my worldview here, Hermione.” He said in mock annoyance.

“God forbid,” she murmured, giving him the tiniest of grins. “But seriously, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought every single thing you’ve voiced today.”

“That’s… comforting?”

“Ugh, tell me about it. But I don’t know how else to say it to make it more convincing Harry, he’s just… not the same person that he was at Hogwarts.”

“Hmm,” he grunted, frowning sceptically. Hermione rolled her eyes, but she supposed that was about the best reaction she could hope for, given the circumstances. 

Harry drained his glass and let out a hiss of breath, his features settling into an expression of grim determination, as if there was some distasteful job to be done and he’d begrudgingly accepted that he was the one to do it.

“Why’d you end it?” he asked, “I mean you obviously didn’t get caught, and you said it was fun while it lasted, so what happened? You just got sick of lying and sneaking around or you suddenly realised how much of a complete and utter bellend he is?”

“Um, neither really,” she said, deciding to ignore Harry’s not-so-subtle jab at Malfoy, “I- I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What did he do?” asked Harry, looking dour. 

“Oh honestly, Harry, he didn’t do anything- and in any case, surely if he did that would fall into the ‘realising what a bellend he is’ category?” he gave her a deeply unimpressed look and she sighed and rolled her eyes again. “It just- it had to end, ok?”

“Right…”

“Harry, why are you making that face?” she asked suspiciously. “I’d have thought you of all people would agree that it had to end.”

“Alright,” he said, sighing long-sufferingly and setting his empty glass down on the table. “Cards on the table. I already said I suspected you might be seeing someone, that was because- well, for a number of reasons, but more than once I caught you smiling to yourself, and I don’t think I’d seen that look on your face since Ron broke up with Lavender back at Hogwarts. Like you were really pleased about something but you knew you shouldn’t be enjoying it quite so much. Well, maybe you looked like that when you had Rita Skeeter trapped in that jar, but-”

“What are you trying to say, Harry?”

“I don’t know, It’s just- at the time I was happy for you, because it seemed so obvious that you really liked the guy, whoever he was, but now…” he trailed off, and Hermione looked away.

The implication hung in the air between them, and Hermione found she had no response to it. Damn Harry and his damn Auror perceptiveness. She knew it couldn’t work between her and Malfoy, Ginny’s reaction earlier was proof enough of that, and what pandemonium would ensue if they actually came out to the world at large as an actual couple? The thought of how Ron or Neville would react was enough to send a chill down her spine. Come to that, to say the rest of the Weasleys would be a hard sell would be a colossal understatement. Molly had been so utterly lovely to her since the breakup, but Hermione wasn’t sure she’d be quite so warm towards her if she found out that Draco Malfoy was the one she’d replaced Ron with. She remembered all too well the unpleasantness that had arisen between herself and Molly when Rita Skeeter had painted her as some sort of conniving maneater, and given the many and varied personal insults levied against the Weasley family by the Malfoys over the years, she couldn’t imagine news of her and Draco as a couple would be well received.

She knew this. She knew it wasn’t meant to be, she’d known that much from the start, but beneath all the anger and stress and very real, rational concerns about the validity of their relationship, there was still a stubborn kernel of genuine affection for him. She’d seen it for what it was, they both had, and despite all the avoidance and tension between them she still felt it, sitting there in the depths of her mind like an unwelcome guest. When he’d shown up on her doorstep earlier a tiny, shameful part of her had hoped that he had come, not just to apologise for their argument, but maybe also to ask her to start it up again. A stupid, sentimental notion that had no place in reality.

She became aware of Harry watching her, and shook her head distractedly. No. It wouldn’t work between them, it _couldn’t_ work.

“Look, Harry,” she said firmly, “It was stupid, I know, but it’s over now. It might take us a while, but Malfoy and I will claw our way back to a halfway cordial professional relationship, and everything will go back to normal.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at her, and she wished she believed her own words.

“If you say so.” He said after a moment.

“Harry-”

“I just want to say two things, then I’ll leave it alone, ok?”

“Ok…”

“Ok, one; you _cannot_ allow Ron to find this out by accident. He’s happy with Susan and all, but if he finds out from some stupid comment Malfoy makes or something, and realises we’ve all been keeping it from him, it’ll kill him, Hermione. And I know what you’re about to say, but it’s got nothing to do with him approving of who you date or anything like that, he just hates being the last to know, and you know this’ll really upset him if he thinks we’ve all known about it behind his back.” Harry sighed and rubbed his jaw wearily, “If it’s really over between the two of you- god, I mean between you and _Malfoy_. I hate this, did I mention that?”

“Not specifically, no…”

“Well I do. I hate it.”

“Duly noted.”

“Anyway, if it’s properly over between you, you might not have to worry so much about Ron finding out on his own, but at some point you’ll have to tell him. In person, Hermione, and ideally without mentioning that Ginny and I knew first.”

“I don’t- fine.”

“Good. I know it’ll be shitty, but I really think it’s the only way he’ll ever be halfway ok with it- with any of this.”

“Fine, what was the second thing?” she sighed.

“Alright, I’m just trying to look at this as if you’re not- and he’s not- with an unbiased eye, you know? So hear me out.”

“Ok, I’m listening,” said Hermione, privately marvelling at the irony of Harry telling her to consider Malfoy without bias.

“He came to your house to ‘apologise’, that’s not what people who are just co-workers do. He cared enough about apologising, or whatever it was he wanted to talk to you about, that he was happy to risk getting caught coming here rather than just going to your office again tomorrow. This is all of course assuming that this whole thing isn’t some sort of elaborate plot to get himself back into the good graces of the wizarding world.”

“What happened to your unbiased eye?” asked Hermione dryly.

“I’m only human,” he said with a small grin, “My point is that if you two were friends before all the- before everything, then fine, yeah, it makes sense he might want to make up, but you’ve never been friends, and no one at work would bat an eyelid at the two of you acting cold towards each other. That makes me think that this- whatever it is between you- isn’t as over as you keep claiming it is.”

Hermione didn’t reply immediately. The thought had occurred to her, but as yet she didn’t really know how she wanted to deal with it. She had been confused even _before_ this conversation, and now she felt completely lost in the woods. Plus, how Malfoy would react to this mess was anyone’s guess, so she felt that making plans at this point was a futile endeavour.

“What are you saying, Harry?” she asked quietly.

“I’m saying that I will be genuinely surprised if this is the last I hear of this. Even if you two aren’t –ugh- meeting up or whatever anymore, it’s pretty damn obvious that it’s not resolved between you. Just- I know I’m a long fucking way from neutral in this, Hermione, but can you please just _talk _to me every now and again? This situation feels like a minefield and I don’t want it to blow up in anyone’s face.”

“Ok, I can do that.” said Hermione. Truth be told she hadn’t expected him to be so tempered in his reaction, and she was extremely grateful that he seemed at least mostly content to let her deal with this in her own way. He nodded gruffly then sighed again, leaning back on the sofa and shutting his eyes.

There were a few more minutes of silence, broken eventually by a muffled voice from the other room.

“Hey guys,” called Ginny, “If you’re done talking can I come out now? I need to pee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had been kicking my ass. I still kind of feel like Harry's a bit more chill than he should be, but this shit is angsty enough as it is (for my taste anyway :p) without making him and Hermione fall out too.  
Also, 100k words! WUT.
> 
> Hope you're all hanging in there, much love xxx


	34. Uncomfortable Truths

Draco stumbled when he reappeared in his flat. He was usually pretty steady on his feet, even those insane muggle ticket gates had only confounded him once or twice before he got the hang of it, but today was a different story, he felt as if every inch of solid ground he thought he’d had beneath him had suddenly fallen away. He reached out blindly to lean against the wall, staring blankly into the middle distance as he tried to get his head around what had just happened.

He was a dead man walking. He knew it. He wasn’t sure how it would go down, but he knew that this was the calm before the storm. He shouldn’t have been such an arse this afternoon, in his desperate attempt to avoid the intimacy they had shared last time they’d been together, he had over-corrected pretty spectacularly and just ended up acting like a twisted imitation of his former self, bitter and cruel and short-tempered. He was mildly surprised that Potter hadn’t started anything then and there after witnessing their blatant shouting match, but he’d escaped more or less unscathed and stomped back up to his office, where he had sat and seethed for an hour before being overcome by guilt. It was an uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling, a strange, restive remorse that felt quite different from the dark, bottomless despair and self-hatred that had dominated the endless days of house-arrest after the war. He’d come home after work and sat and squirmed for a while until he finally gave in to his restlessness and decided to just go and make it right so both of them could just get on with their lives with the absolute minimum amount of screaming rows. That was what he had told himself, anyway. 

Had he known what a catastrophic mistake going over there would turn out to be, he probably would have just let her stew and dealt with the fallout later, but at the time it had been near unbearable knowing that he had essentially just gone in there and reinforced every negative opinion she’d ever had of him. So he’d apparated to her street and trudged up to her first floor flat, uncomfortably aware that he was retracing his steps from the first time they had slept together. He’d stood at her door and when it opened to reveal her surprised face he’d felt a rebellious surge of embarrassing, sappy affection, _exactly_ what he’d been trying to avoid this afternoon. Then the Weasley girl had appeared, and he couldn’t believe his bad luck, he’d kicked himself for not owling Granger first and tried not to say anything that would incur any extra wrath, and when she left them and shut herself in her bedroom he had thought he’d dodged a bullet. Stupid man.

The moment Potter had stepped out of the floo his heart had stopped, his arm frozen in front of him with his mug halfway to his lips. Potter had blinked once, twice, his mouth flapping open as if his brain simply couldn’t comprehend the information it was receiving from his eyes. They had continued to stare at each other in sheer, speechless astonishment for a few more moments until finally Draco had the presence of mind to retreat, and now here he was in his flat, trying desperately to will away the waves of panic and nausea that washed over him.

_How?_ How could he possibly have been so stupid? How had he _ever_ let it get this far? He had deluded himself into thinking that this day might never come as long as he was careful, but the more he thought about it the more it felt like getting caught like this was an inevitability. If they’d ended it months ago, they could have just called it a one-night-stand and gone back to their lives, but no, he had been thinking with his dick, and now here he was, facing the looming prospect of Potter finding out everything that had transpired between himself and Granger over the last few months.

_Shit_. Stupid, _stupid _man.

He staggered over and dropped down heavily into his armchair, raking his hand through his hair absentmindedly as his brain supplied him with very possible worst case scenario. What if Potter told the rest of their friendship group, or worse, what if it became _public_? He might be just about managing to scrape his reputation up off the ground bit by bit in the Ministry, but the wizarding world as a whole still saw him as barely better than the worst of the Death Eaters. If this got out he’d be getting howlers from random people he’d never met inside a week. It would be like the first six months of his house arrest all over again only worse, because this time he was actually trying to have a life rather than just wallowing in self-hatred and despair. Damn it, people had only just stopped glowering at him in the corridors, the last thing he needed was more bloody publicity. Come to that, Granger herself had probably had quite enough of being in the public eye, and this would be a nasty stain on her squeaky clean reputation as the golden girl of the wizarding world.

A tiny kernel of hope, perhaps. Maybe that would mean that she would fight all the harder to avoid it getting out. While there was no love lost between himself and Potter, the two of _them_ were friends, and maybe that was enough to stop Potter or the Weasley girl from spreading it any further. He hoped so. As much as he hated the thought of his name being dragged through the muck again, he found that what bothered him more was the idea that she would be somehow tainted by the mere association. He remembered when she’d been repeatedly targeted by Rita Skeeter, and even though compared to the rest of his sins it was almost ludicrously tame, his brief collaboration with that fucking woman was one of his most shameful memories. He had no desire to get mixed up in all that rubbish again. Surely she didn’t want that either?

No, far more likely was that Potter would just try to punch him in the face or something, tell him that he didn’t deserve her, to stay away from her, or else. That was the sort of thing those nauseating hero types did, wasn’t it? Well screw him. Chosen one or not, he had no fucking right to tell him _or _Hermione who they could or couldn’t-

Draco abruptly stopped that train of thought. That bloody mentality was the reason he was in this abysmal situation in the first place- well, that and both of their tempers.

He slept poorly that night, tossing and turning as his dreams alternated between horrific nightmares and memories of soft skin under his hands, wild hair surrounding him and gentle moans that made his chest tight and his throat dry. He was well used to the nightmares, but it was the other dreams that really disturbed him, and he ended up trudging into work an hour early after eventually just giving up on getting a decent night’s sleep. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to function after a sleepless night, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Anyway, it was so much easier these days, now he didn’t have to worry about dropping off for a moment and allowing his occlumency to slip, which would have inevitably lead to both his and his parents gruesome murders at Voldemort’s hand. No, it was much easier now, the worst he’d have to deal with if he fell asleep at his desk was getting a stern talking to by his boss, who was about as intimidating as a puffskein.

He dropped down into his desk chair a little more heavily that was necessary, and it creaked unhappily as he leant back and rubbed his eyes. Now he was here he wished he was back in bed. Bloody typical. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Still only quarter past eight, he could get away with a quick cat-nap before work properly started. He locked his office door and rested his head on his arms on his desk.

Just a quick nap. Half an hour, that was all he needed, then he’d be good to go…

_His hands winding in her hair, her bare skin warm and welcoming against his white sheets. He skimmed his palm along her ribcage, enjoying the gentle movement of her breathing, and he didn’t know why they didn’t spend all the time like this, secreted away together in this tiny oasis away from prying eyes and stifling expectations. Even here though, someone was knocking on the door. He tried to ignore it, tried to focus on her calming presence, her scent and all encompassing warmth, but the noise continued. Why couldn’t they just leave them alone? He knew he didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve her, but why couldn’t they just let him enjoy this tiny sliver of uncomplicated contentment? He screwed his eyes shut and wished for them to go away, but when he opened them it was her that was gone, and he was alone in his bedroom, the cacophony of fists still clattering on the door outside. _

_“Shut up,” he groaned, burying his head in his pillows, which were uncomfortably hard, like blocks of wood in pillowcases. “Shut up…”_

_The banging was joined by voices, angry voices that shouted his name and called for his head. He knew he would have to face them eventually, but not here, not now…If only they would just let him-_

“Malfoy! Are you in there?”

Draco’s eyes shot open and he nearly fell off his chair in his rush to get up. He hurriedly smoothed down his hair and straightened his robes, putting on his best expression of calm indifference before taking a small breath and opening the door. His mouth fell open. He was expecting his boss, maybe some co-worker with a question, not-

“Potter?” he exclaimed, unable to hide the shock on his face as he stared at Potter, who stood casually in front of him like the harbinger of Draco’s doom. Draco cleared his throat and tried to look a little less flabbergasted. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’ve been knocking for a few minutes,” said Potter tightly, raising an eyebrow at him and ignoring his question, “Were you asleep or something?”

“Of course not.” He scoffed, turning his nose up disdainfully, “I was working, I don’t expect _you_ to remember what that’s like. Anyway, you didn’t answer my question, Potter, why are you here?”

“You’re lecturing _me_ on the virtues of hard work? That’s rich.”

“Enough! Why are you here?” he demanded, feeling the sharp tendrils of a headache creep over his temples and down to the base of his skull. He desperately needed a cup of coffee.

“Just wanted to pick your brain about something.” Said Potter with a shrug, his face frustratingly blank.

“Yeah, well, I don’t have time for this shit. Some of us have to work-”

“Malfoy,” he said quietly, fixing Draco with a hard, cold look, “Do you really want to do this out here?”

“What, planning on breaking my nose, Potter?” he sneered, squaring his shoulders and mirroring his glare, “I think I’d prefer to have a few witnesses, thanks,”

Potter laughed bitterly and cocked his head, looking almost but not quite amused. When he spoke his voice was still low, though there was a thread of slightly resentful anger there now.

“What are you afraid of, _Draco_? That I’ll break your nose and then cast a body bind curse on you so I can leave you stuck in your office to bleed all over the carpet? Yes, wouldn’t that be terrible. I’d be a real fucking _arsehole_ if I did something like that, wouldn’t I?”

Draco scowled and narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. He wasn’t wrong, but hell would freeze over before would admit that much to fucking _Potter_. They stood like that until finally Potter rolled his eyes and muttered ‘Fuck’s sake’ under his breath, pushing past Draco into his tiny office and sitting down. Draco sighed resignedly and shut the door, sitting down stiffly behind his desk.

“Your office is small.” Said Potter after a few minutes of tense silence.

“Yes well, so is your brain.” Said Draco, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was exhausted, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was very much at a disadvantage in this encounter, and there was pretty much nothing he could do to change that. At least they were in the privacy of his office. “Look, Potter, I don’t know what-”

“Yes you do. You know exactly what.”

“Fine. Well then let’s get to the point; what do you want from me?”

“I’ve heard Hermione’s side. I want to hear yours.”

“Hah!” he barked out a sarcastic laugh, “Of course, because you and I are such good mates, let’s just talk it out, shall we?”

“Malfoy, just- ugh.” He scowled, then took a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose irritably. “Look. As far as I’m concerned , I deserve a fucking medal for how little I’ve overreacted over the past twenty-four hours, so do me a favour and just cut the shit, ok? We’re not friends, we never will be, but I am asking you pretend for fifteen bloody minutes that we are just two normal human beings that work in the same building, ok? Can you manage that?”

Draco opened his mouth to tell him not to fucking patronise him, but shut it, and nodded reluctantly, deciding that it possibly was not the best idea to antagonise Potter at this particular moment. A shame. He could have used a little pick-me-up.

“Why were you there yesterday?” asked Potter after a short pause.

“I- didn’t she tell you?” he said, tamping down on the urge to say that it was none of his goddamn business why he was there.

“I’m asking you.” He said shortly.

“Fine! I went there to apologise to her for being an arse. There, are you happy?”

“What? No I’m not fucking happy! What about this whole mental bloody situation would make me _happy_?”

“Charming as ever, Potter. Why do you even care? I’m sure Granger wasted no time in telling you that our little- whatever is over.”

“You actually like her, don’t you?”

The question was so abrupt that it took Draco a second to get his bearings.

“You cannot be serious,” Draco started, arranging his face into what he hoped was a cruel smirk, but apparently his split second of faltering surprise had been enough for Potter, and he let out a groan, running his hand through his hair, making it even more of a chaotic mess than it had been when he’d entered.

“Well shit. This just got a whole lot more complicated.”

“What are you on about-?”

“Alright Malfoy, I’m going to say this exactly once. The _only_ way this works out for you two is if you let some of the people she loves see what she sees in you. Whatever the fuck that is.”

Draco blinked and frowned. That had almost sounded like Potter was giving him advice on how to be with Granger. But no, that couldn’t be right.

“I don’t- what?”

“I’m not saying it again, Malfoy. If you want to just walk away be my guest. I’d be lying if I said that’s not what _I _want; I don’t even like you working here.”

“But then, _why_?” he asked, so astounded that he didn’t even bother sneering.

“Because Hermione runs towards challenges, not away from them.” He sighed resignedly, “Once she’s set her mind to something she’s not going to give it up unless something catastrophic happens, and I’d rather not see her have to deal with any more catastrophe. Not for the likes of _you_.”

He said the last word with such venom that for a moment Draco felt as if they could have been back at Hogwarts, sixteen years old and one wrong word away from a messy brawl, followed swiftly by detention. Draco said nothing. He wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t another strange dream. Potter sighed again and stood up, and Draco wondered how he had lost control of this situation so spectacularly.

“Look, Hermione is one of the best people I know, her current taste in men notwithstanding, and she’s got a hell of a lot more to lose from this than you. She doesn’t deserve the shitstorm that’ll happen if you don’t get your act together and either walk away, or stop acting like such a prick. I mean, my preference would be for you to do both, but whatever. Figure it out Malfoy.”

And just like that, he turned around and left the office without another word, shutting the door behind him and leaving Draco to sit speechless at his desk.

What in the name of Merlin’s saggy left bollock had just happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having a bit of writer's block at the moment, (you can tell because dream sequences are my go-to when i'm having trouble :p) so this is a bit of a short chapter. I'm still trying to piece together how it's all going to play out.


	35. Baby Steps

The next day, Hermione crossed the atrium like prey approaching the watering hole, quick and cautious, checking around her every moment for signs of trouble. Harry wouldn’t have spread it around, but their conversation last night had her on edge, and she really wasn’t in the mood to deal with anything more complicated than her usual work, and that included literally anything to do with Draco Malfoy.She let out a sigh of relief when she reached her office without incident, and immediately locked the door behind her. Work was _easy_. Work was a series of problems with (relatively) clear cut solutions, no tangled emotions involved and no one looking over her shoulder.

It was nearly midday by the time she decided to brave the outside world and have a cup of tea, and she felt far calmer than she had earlier when she entered the break room. It was empty except for two people, one of which she recognised as Wolfsson’s assistant, who appeared to be deep in conversation with his friend, a short witch with strawberry blonde hair who looked like she was barely out of Hogwarts. Hermione gave the assistant a quick nod of greeting and went to make her tea, trying to remember his name. Was it Jamie? John? She stirred the teabag around in the mug, mashing it absentmindedly with the teaspoon in an attempt to make it brew faster, and caught a few snippets of their conversation.

“I’m telling you, I’ve _never_ seen him on our floor before,”

“Really? You never get aurors down there? You’d think they’d encounter plenty of cursed objects,”

“Well yeah, we get aurors from time to time, but never Harry bloody Potter! And why would he be visiting Malfoy of all people? He works with the Department of Mysteries, not the Auror Office”

Hermione froze, her hand halfway to the milk bottle.

“They were at Hogwarts together though, right? I know they kind of hate each other, but-”

“That’s an understatement,” scoffed the blonde witch, “You should have seen the look on his face when he saw it was Potter knocking on his door. I’m telling you, Jay, something’s going on.”

Hermione put the teaspoon down on the counter and turned around, her tea forgotten as she strode back to her office. The moment the break room door shut behind her, she scowled and felt a rush of irritation. What was Harry thinking? If he had gone down there to try and bloody defend her honour or something she was going to kill him. Infuriating, paternalistic condescension aside, she had _told_ him that it was over between her and Malfoy, Harry going down there only opened everything up again, as well as providing yet more gossip material for the many gossip-mongers that were dotted around this place. She sat down at her desk, but stood right up again and left her office, locking the door behind her, heading up to the Auror Office. She stepped out of the lift and was greeted almost immediately by the main Auror Office receptionist.

“Ms Granger,”

“Hi, Paul, I’ve just got to have a quick work with Harry,”

“Sure, go on in.”

Hermione smiled at him and strode purposefully past the sea of cubicles to Harry’s office. She knocked and he called her in after a moment.

“Hermione, what-”

She shut the door behind her with a loud click and rounded on him.

“What were you _thinking_?”

“What-?”

“You went to Malfoy’s _office?_”

“I- how the bloody hell did you find that out so quickly? I only got back about half an hour ago!”

“Friend of Wolfsson’s assistant, works in Cursed Objects. Quite the gossip apparently.”

“Christ, I must have been in the department for all of fifteen minutes….”

“Apparently that was enough.”

“Oh shit, she doesn’t-?”

“Oh she suspects something, alright,” said Hermione, smirking despite herself, “Wouldn’t be surprised if she thinks _you_ and Malfoy are having a torrid affair.”

“Very funny.” Said Harry grimly. “You don’t get to lord it over me when you’re _literally fucking the guy_.”

“Oh, shut up.” She snapped, “I’m not fucking him anymore anyway, it was- it was an extended fluke that-”

“Don’t give me that, Hermione, I wish I hadn’t gone down there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Fine, _silencio,”_ he pointed his wand at the door and frowned. “You’re talking about it in the past tense, but- fucking hell, it was bad enough when I thought you were just hate-fucking-”

“Harry!”

“What? That’s what you were doing, wasn’t it? At least it seemed like that’s what you were describing yesterday,”

“Well, maybe, but-”

“Look, I- I don’t know why I went down there today, I don’t know what I expected from him- I mean, it’s _Malfoy, _but I didn’t expect-”

“What? What happened?”

Harry gave her a long, searching look, but somehow his expression was even more disturbed than it had been yesterday, when she had actually come clean.

“I don’t know, Hermione, I just- I could barely about get my head around the idea of the two of you when it was just some stupid fling, but-”

“That’s what it is- was,”

“You know what? Just forget it.”

“What?”

“Yeah, just forget it. There’s no point in us going over and over it.”

“Harry, don’t-”

“Look, Hermione, I just- I don’t want to talk about this anymore, ok?” he said, folding his arms tetchily, “Especially not at work.”

“I-ok…” she said, her tone just a tad snippy. “I suppose I’ll just go back to my office then, shall I?”

“It’s just a lot, you know?” sighed Harry, “I probably shouldn’t have gone down there this morning, I was- I just wanted to hear his side of it, that’s all.”

“Well that’s a first,” muttered Hermione.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but let’s be honest; we’re in uncharted waters here.”

“That’s certainly true.” She huffed, feeling suddenly very tired. “Ok fine, but please, Harry, just let me deal with this myself, ok? Don’t go trying to defend my honour or anything.”

“As if you’d need the likes of _me_ for that,” he scoffed, and she couldn’t help but grin.

“You know what I mean.”

“Fine, fine, that’s fair enough.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“See you for dinner on Saturday?”

“Yeah,”

“Ok.”

She sighed and gave him a crooked grin which he returned, before she finally got up and made her way back to the lifts, trying hard not to obsess over the contents of Harry and Draco’s discussion.

However, if she had expected anything to come of Harry’s impromptu meeting with Malfoy, it seemed that she was destined to be disappointed, because a fortnight passed uneventfully, without so much as a murmur from the Cursed Objects Department. She wondered if this was it now, the two of them passing like ships in the night as they lived their lives parallel to each other, and tried not to feel saddened by that. She had stopped trying to pick him out of the crowd when she crossed the atrium in the mornings, and she didn’t even feel that little pinch of disappointment when she stepped into an empty lift after half-expecting to find him there waiting for her, smirking like the cat that got the cream.

It was nearly three weeks since Harry had found out about them, and apart from a niggling sense of regret, Hermione had more or less accepted that life really had gone back to normal. That was at least, until she went for coffee with Ron. She had decided to hold off on telling him until there were a good few months- possibly even years between now and her ill-advised fling with Malfoy, especially now that discovery was unlikely. She had a feeling that he would take the news much better when it felt like ancient history. For now, she was content to keep her and Ron’s occasional meet-ups as they were, continuing to build their way back up from exes to friends.

“How’re things, anyway?” she asked as she blew gently on her cappuccino.

“Good, yeah,” he said, shrugging, “Susan’s alright, she’s actually thinking of transferring to Magical Law Enforcement,”

“That’s exciting, you’d be working together!”

“Well, not really, the Auror Office is on a different floor…” he said, looking deeply uncomfortable, “Don’t read into it or anything, but I’m not really looking forward to it. I barely manage to get along with Harry working with him every day, you know?”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” said Hermione, laughing, “Anyway, nothing’s set in stone, is it?”

“Nah, nowhere near. Oh hey, I forgot! Weirdest bloody thing happened yesterday,”

“It did?”

“Yeah, yeah, so you know- well, you might not- but Malfoy still has to go to those probation meetings every month or something, and Harry and me were down in Magical Law Enforcement proper for some reason, something to do with a case-”

“Oh no,” groaned Hermione, “Ron, what did you do?”

“Why do you assume I did anything?” he demanded, pouting, “Harry’s easily as bad as me on that front anyway.”

“Fine, fine, so what did happen?” she asked, curious now that she was safe in the knowledge that if any of her worst fears had come to pass there was no way Ron would be sitting having coffee with her.

“OK,” he said, grinning, “It was so weird, so Harry had gone to the loo or something, I can’t remember, but I’m standing there in the hallway, right, and Malfoy walks past me, then stops right in the middle of the hall and turns round. I mean, I thought he was going to start something, you know?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” said Hermione vaguely.

“But then he was just like; ‘_Weasley_,’” Ron grimaced absurdly and put on an exaggeratedly posh accent which she assumed was supposed to be an imitation of Malfoy. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t completely suppress a guilty grin. It wasn’t _entirely _inaccurate.

“Come on, Ron, he can’t help his voice.”

“He can help being an arsehole,” he muttered, and Hermione gave him a stern look. “Oh fine. If anyone deserves a little superficial mocking it’s him, but fine.”

“You were saying?” she said, trying to hide the impatience in her voice.

“Oh yeah, so he’s like; ‘_Weasley. How’s your family?’_ and I was just floored. I was like, ‘you what?’ and he goes ‘_I heard your sister did very well in the last match,’ _What the fuck, right?”

“Um, he made small-talk? That’s what this is about?”

“Ugh, don’t say it like that, you’re making me sound crazy.” Said Ron, looking deflated. “Anyway it’s _Malfoy_, when he first asked about my family I was half-convinced it was going to be some sort of threat or something.”

“Oh, come on, really?”

“I said I only _half_ thought it, didn’t I?”

“_Ron_,” she tutted. “You really think he would threaten your family when he was literally on his way to a probation meeting?”

“Well I don’t know, do I? Anyway I was so bloody flummoxed I think I just said ‘yeah, Ginny did great’. Then he just sort of nodded and said ‘see you around’, and walked off. Mental.”

“That’s it?”

“Well… yeah. Ok, when I say it like that I know it doesn’t sound that weird, but I swear it was like being in some weird, alternate universe where Malfoy’s not a complete prick, it was creepy.”

“Maybe he’s just sick of all the confrontation?”

“I dunno, maybe. Harry thinks it’s weird too though.”

“He does?”

“Yeah, when I told him about it he got all serious and frowny- you know the face- then said something about how he thought Malfoy was going to just walk away, and yeah, that’s what I expected him to do too. I mean it’s one thing to not get into fights and arguments at work, but I don’t think I can handle making small-talk with him. It’s _weird_, Hermione.”

“Maybe,” she mumbled noncommittally, internally wondering about Harry’s choice of words. She’d never got around to grilling him about exactly what he and Malfoy said during their meeting all those weeks ago. Now she was seriously considering cornering him and making him explain.

“Definitely.” Said Ron, “I mean, I _suppose_ it’s not impossible he’s decided to make amends or something,” Hermione gave him a withering look. His tone of voice made it clear that in fact he _did _think such a thing was impossible. “But why the bloody hell would he start with _me_?”

“I-I don’t know,” she said, not meeting Ron’s eyes. “Maybe he _didn’t_ start with you?”

“Damned if I know.” He grunted, taking a sip of his coffee with a grimace, “What, you think he’s been going around apologising to everyone he’s wronged or something? Some kind of Malfoy apology grand tour?”

“Well, stranger things have happened-”

“Not many,” scoffed Ron, sipping his coffee. “Anyway, how’re things with you?”

“I- Actually, Ron, he already apologised to me.”

“What? No way,”

“Well, yeah, it was pretty intense actually,” she took a deep breath and looked up to meet Ron’s eyes, “I genuinely believe he’s sorry, Ron. I-I said I forgave him.”

“You did _what_?”

“I forgave him. He’s sorry, the war’s over and I’m _tired_.” She said firmly.

“You cannot be serious, Hermione,” he said, looking flabbergasted. “He- the things he_ did- _how can you just-”

“I didn’t _just_ _do_ anything, it was a long time coming, ok? And would you keep your voice down?” she hissed, looking over her shoulder nervously, but it appeared that no one had even bothered to look up from their coffees at his outburst.

“I can’t believe this-”

“Yes well, believe it.” she snapped, feeling irrationally annoyed all of a sudden, “I don’t know why you’re being so-”

“Alright, alright! Calm down, will you?”

“Don’t tell me to calm down-” she began, her temper flaring.

“I’m not- look, I’m sorry, ok?” said Ron a little tightly, but he held his hands up in surrender and gave her a very small grin. “I just- I’m shocked, that’s all. I mean, I know you’ve always been more forgiving than the two of us combined, but-”

“It’s just- it is what it is, ok? Can we talk about something else please?”

“I- fine, sure.” He said, looking a little taken aback.

Hermione nodded and sipped her coffee. She felt a little guilty about snapping the way that she had, but the strength of Ron’s reaction had made her very uneasy; if he was this shocked at the mere fact that Malfoy had apologised and she had forgiven him, how on earth was he going to react to the rest?

Hermione was distracted for the rest of their meeting, answering questions about her work and her parents as if she was half-asleep. She said goodbye to Ron in the atrium and made her way back to her office, where she wrote a quick memo to Harry.

_Harry, told Ron about Draco apologising, but that’s all. If he says anything he’s just talking about that, not everything else. I’m working my way up to it, ok?_

_Hermione_

She tapped the memo with her wand, put a quick privacy charm on it in case anyone else tried to read it, and sent it off to the Auror office, then sat dazedly for several minutes at her desk. Why _was_ Malfoy being nice to Ron? It was certainly possible that he was doing some sort of ‘apology grand tour’, but it seemed out of character for him to just decide to do so out of the blue. He certainly didn’t seem to care about being disliked, and it had taken him months to apologise to her, and even then he had been off his face. A mystery for another time; for now she had work to do.

The next day, she had something of a revelation about her current project about six in the morning, and so when she got to work she was a strange combination of exhausted and wired. Her mind whirred away, but her limbs were heavy and sluggish. She was so deep in thought that she nearly jumped out of her skin when the bell chimed to announce the lift’s arrival. She sighed and tapped her foot restlessly as the doors rattled open, frustratingly slow as usual, to reveal-

“Oh-I um, hi, Malfoy,”

“Granger,”

It hadn’t even been three weeks since she’d last seen him, but her traitorous body was acting like she was some Victorian romance heroine, reunited with her lover after decades apart. Her throat was suddenly dry, and she was uncharacteristically tongue-tied. She hated it.

“Excuse me,” came an irritable voice behind her. Hermione whirled around to see a few annoyed looking Ministry workers waiting for her to get into the lift.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Sorry,” she mumbled, stepping into the lift and going right to the back. Malfoy took a step backwards too, making room for the lift’s new occupants, and too his credit he looked uncomfortable too, tapping his polished shoe on the floor restlessly.

“How’re things, Granger?” he asked suddenly.

“I- what?”

“How are things?” he repeated, looking ever so slightly amused. “How’s your project going?”

“It’s um, it’s going well,” she managed, glancing quickly at the lift’s other occupants, but they seemed unperturbed by Malfoy’s sudden friendliness.

“Good to hear,” he said, giving her a tiny smile as the lift stopped at the Department of Mysteries. Hermione gave him a strange look, but stepped off the lift without a word. However, to her great surprise, he followed.

“What are you doing?” she said, her voice sounding rather harsher and more abrupt than she had intended, not that it seemed to bother him.

“Have you got a minute?”

“I- fine. Come to my office-”

“That’s not necessary, I just wanted to apologise.”

“You wanted- what?”

“Look, Granger, I- I was a bit of an arsehole last time, wasn’t I? I just wanted to apologise for my conduct.”

“Well- well yes, you were a bit of an arsehole, to say the least.” She said stiffly, very aware that they were just standing in the hallway where anyone could see them.

“Quite unprofessional, yes.” He said, shaking his head contritely, yet still managing to look entirely unapologetic. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, and he gave her a small, rueful smile. “Look, you don’t have to believe me if you don’t want, it’s just- it’s an olive branch, ok?”

“An olive branch?” she repeated sceptically.

“Is it really so hard to believe?” he asked, his voice a touch smoother than before as he raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“I suppose not,” she conceded, and she saw his smile widen slightly. “Stranger things have happened, right?”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” he said, turning around to press the button to call the lift back. “See you around, Granger.”

“Sure,” she said warily as he stepped back into the lift, “See you around, Malfoy.”

***

It was nearly another week before she saw him again. They stood stiffly together as they waited for a lift, crammed a little too close by the morning crowds coming into work. The lift went up just one floor before it stopped again at Magical Games and Sports, where what appeared to be a whole quidditch team squashed into the lift, jostling each other and chatting loudly. The other occupants shuffled closer to make room, and Malfoy took a step closer to her, giving her a quick, slightly embarrassed smile. She returned the smile and looked forwards, trying to concentrate on the ceiling rather than on how close they were suddenly standing. She could feel his thigh pressed against hers, warm through their robes, and she wondered if he really had to stand quite so close. The lift doors opened again and yet more people crowded in, and now they really were like sardines in a tin, her back pushed up uncomfortably against the wall to avoid being pressed up against the balding, middle aged man in front of her.

Thankfully, some people got off a few floors later, but though the crowds around them loosened, Malfoy didn’t move. He shifted from one foot to the other, creating the smallest bit of friction where they were still pressed side to side. Hermione’s breath hitched, and she chanced a sideways look at him, but he just looked forwards, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. He shifted again, unfolding his arms so that his hand fell to his side. She mirrored him, and for one wonderful, terrible moment their hands touched, their knuckles grazing each other as their fingers wound together. But then it was over, the lift doors opened and most of the people left, leaving just the two of them and about three others. Draco finally took a step sideways, and Hermione exhaled, feeling simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

When the lift reached the Department of Mysteries, she stepped out reluctantly. She turned around just as the door shut and locked eyes with Draco, and he smiled at her widely before he was finally obscured by the lift doors.

She should be annoyed. She should be scared, worried. She should be a million things, but as she walked in a daze back to her office, Hermione couldn’t help but smile too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many relationships! I don't want to write a thousand apology scenes, but I did want to capture some of the subtle changes between the different relationships as it starts to sink in.
> 
> Hope everyone is doing ok out there, much love xxx


	36. Bite the Bullet

Hermione knew things had changed- or rather that they hadn’t changed at all- between her and Draco. She still didn’t see him particularly often, he didn’t turn up at her office just to see her anymore, but when they ran into each other they almost always exchanged a few words of small talk, an eye roll about how busy they were or whatever office scandal that was making the rounds. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought they were becoming friends, but she did know better, and she knew that if she was lucky and there weren’t people around, they might just get away with a brief but tantalising moment of physical contact. Their fingers would brush as they passed each other, or he’d gently rest his hand on the small of her back for a split second as he let her through a door ahead of him, smiling that infuriating smile of his the whole time, the one that looked like he knew something she didn’t.

She knew they weren’t friends; they had skipped right past that to something… else. It was electrifying, the tiny touches and secret glances all coming together in a flurry of excitement in her stomach. Unfortunately, it meant that she could no longer tell herself the lie that she could just wait a few more months (or years) to tell Ron. She had promised Harry that she would be the one to drop the bomb, and she knew in her heart of hearts that it was the only way, but she also knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was going to be one of the hardest conversations she’d had with him, maybe even harder than the one that led to their breakup.

It was a bitterly cold Saturday in February, and Hermione was at Grimmauld Place with Harry and Ron, about to apparate to Ginny’s quidditch match. The boys had caught her chatting with Draco last week, just chatting in the atrium about the weather or some damn thing, but Ron had looked scandalised, and Harry had been giving her pointed meaningful looks all week. Now was the time. Well, at the very least it was as good and as bad a time as it ever would be, and she knew that she had to take the opportunity before she talked herself out of it. She cleared her throat nervously.

“Erm, Harry, can you go on without us? I just want to have a quick word with Ron.”

“I- oh. Sure.” He said, looking quickly from her to Ron and not quite managing to disguise his obvious unease. “I’ll just… head off then, yeah? See you in a bit.” He disapparated, leaving Hermione and Ron standing awkwardly in their sitting room.

“What’s up?” asked Ron, his forehead creasing in earnest concern.

“I um, ok, let’s sit down.”

“Ok…” said Ron suspiciously, sitting down very slowly and looking at her as if she had gone completely mad. “You alright, Hermione? You look ill-”

“I’m fine.” She said quickly.

“Yeah, sure you are,” he snorted, “You look like you’re about to start chucking up slugs.”

_Yeah well, you might prefer that…_ she thought.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, steeling herself, “Ok, so I don’t know if Ginny mentioned anything, but- well, I was sort of seeing someone for a while-”

“I thought so,” he said, smiling at her and causing a fresh wave of terror and guilt to wash over her. “I mean, Ginny didn’t _say_ anything, but-”

“It was Malfoy.” She said quickly, before she could talk herself out of it, “That’s who I was seeing.”

Ron’s mouth dropped open, aghast, but then he shook his head, grinning and rolling his eyes at her.

“Jesus, Hermione, you almost had me there.”

“No, Ron-”

“Ugh, can you _imagine_?” he chuckled.

“Ron, I don’t have to imagine,” she said, looking him right in the eyes and determinedly holding his gaze until his smile faded, his eyes glazed over and his eyebrows knitted together in consternation.

“This isn’t funny, Hermione,” he muttered, and she shook her head desperately.

“No, it’s-it’s not supposed to be funny, it’s the truth.”

“What?” he whispered hoarsely.

“It’s-it’s a long story,” she sighed, “We just sort of- came together, totally unintentionally, obviously, it was completely crazy, and-”

“WHAT?!” he thundered. “What the _fuck_ is wrong with you, Hermione?!”

“Look, I know it’s weird, but please just stop shouting-”

“Well how the fuck am I _supposed_ to react?” he yelled, standing up abruptly.

“I don’t know, but-”

“You- you and _him_?” he stammered, the colour draining from his face as he shook his head disbelievingly, “After he- after everything he’s _done_? To you, to me, to pretty much _everyone we know_? I’m not sure there’s a single person we call a friend who he hasn’t fucked over in one way or another!”

“Ron, I know he’s got plenty to atone for,” she said, trying hard not to rise to Ron’s volume and his distraught, angry tone, “But I told you the other day, he apologised to me, sincerely, and I forgave him, and that’s my prerogative-”

“How _could_ you, Hermione?” he snapped, now looking utterly disgusted. “How could you _betray _us like that? He’s got the mark, he’s a fucking Death Eater!”

“It’s not that simple and you know it,” she said sharply, her volume rising. “It’s not that simple legally, and it’s not that simple morally, and-”

“Yes it is that simple.” He said bluntly, “You might have forgotten what a foul little snake he is, but I haven’t, and neither has Harry. Neither has Neville, or Luna, or Ginny-”

“I haven’t forgotten. He hasn’t either. He knows what he’s done.”

“Good.”

There was a tense silence, and Hermione watched helplessly as Ron raked his hands over his jaw, pacing up and down the room like a caged tiger.

“I’m the same person I’ve always been, Ron,” she said quietly, “You’ve trusted my judgement a billion times before, can’t you trust me on this, at least for now?”

Ron stopped pacing and stared at her. For one short moment his expression softened, but it was quickly replaced by a hard, cold scowl. She knew that look, she knew he was going to say something he would later regret, but she couldn’t bring herself to say a word as he rounded on her.

“_Trust_ you?” he hissed, “After you let him fuck you? After you let him get away with _everything_?”

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath and willed herself calm, but with each passing moment it became harder to suppress her temper.

“Careful Ron,” she warned, clenching her jaw. “I didn’t let him get away with anything. In fact, as I recall, on more than one occasion I was instrumental in actually _stopping_ him getting away with-”

Ron cut her off with a short, bitter laugh.

“Yeah, and you’ve ruined it all by fucking him,” he said coldly.

There it was. Hermione stood up abruptly to face him, fists clenched at her sides. His face was red and his chest was heaving, but there was a shadow of regret in his expression; he knew he’d gone too far, but right now Hermione didn’t care.

“What exactly have I ruined?” she asked, deadly quiet, and she thought she saw Ron gulp.

“Hermione-”

“Have I ruined my reputation? My career? Or maybe it’s something a bit more biblical, are you suggesting I’ve somehow ruined my virtue, my integrity? What is it, Ron?”

“No, that’s not what-”

“Are you saying that everything I did at Hogwarts, during the war against Malfoy and his disgusting cohorts is somehow erased? All because I had the fucking audacity to try and move on with my life?”

“Yeah well, you’re not supposed to move on by fucking your enemies,” he retorted, but he was on the defensive, and they both knew it.

“Ronald Weasley, you have exactly _zero_ say on who I do or do not fuck,” she hissed, poking him in the chest, but rather than hammering home her victory, the action seemed to reignite his anger.

“I don’t care who you fuck!” he shouted, throwing his arms up and starting to pace again, “I honestly don’t, but Malfoy- that fucking bastard is beneath you, Hermione. He doesn’t deserve you, he doesn’t deserve _anything_ he’s got. He doesn’t deserve to be rich, he doesn’t deserve to be in a cushy ministry job, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve to be sleeping with you.”

“What does he deserve then, Azkaban? Some dark, miserable cell where he can live out his days in despair?”

“Maybe,” muttered Ron.

“We all spoke at his trial, Ron, you didn’t think he deserved Azkaban back then.”

“Yeah well, maybe I was just influenced by you and Harry being too bloody forgiving for your own good.”

“And that’s a bad thing, is it?”

“Maybe not, but it’s not fucking _fair_.”

Hermione found she didn’t have anything to say to that. She wasn’t here to debate ethics with him, and in any case she’d be lying if she hadn’t thought everything he’d just said at some point or another. She was just… past it. She was exhausted and overwhelmed and she just didn’t care anymore. She felt like she had used up her entire day’s energy in the last ten minutes.

“I’m telling you because I think you deserve to know, not because I’m asking for permission or approval,” She said into the silence, and when he didn’t reply, she continued. “But even so I would appreciate it if you kept it… well, just between the three of us, out of the public eye.”

“You think that little of me?” he asked bitterly, “You think I’ll just run straight to the Prophet and tattle on you out of spite?”

“I- oh hell, I don’t know, Ron.” She sighed, shaking her head tiredly. “I don’t know what I expected…”

Ron’s shoulders slumped and in that moment he looked utterly defeated. There was a long silence, heavy with hurt and confusion, but eventually Ron took a step backwards from the sofa, not meeting her eyes.

“I’m going to go,” he said, his voice breaking slightly, “I’m just going to go to the match, I could use a couple of hours of shouting at things.”

“Ok,” she said quietly.

“Don’t- don’t follow me, ok?”

“Ron, please-”

“Just don’t, please just don’t say anything. I don’t know what to tell you, Hermione, I don’t know what this means for us, I don’t- I’m just going to go.”

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, anything, but shut it after several seconds of her mind floundering uselessly to try and find the right words. Ron nodded stiffly, then disapparated without another word, leaving Hermione alone in the empty house.

Her plans for the day suddenly cancelled, Hermione apparated back home, and as soon as her feet hit the ground she felt the prickle of tears at the corner of her eyes. Too tired to bother fighting it, she swore softly, and trudged over to the sofa as the tears began to fall.

Was it even worth it? Was _any_ of this bullshit with Malfoy worth all this heartache? All this stress and pain to her and everyone around her? She didn’t know, but the tears at least were short lived, and after about ten minutes of quiet crying she stood up again, wiped her eyes and went straight to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine.

It was late that evening when Harry and Ginny finally returned. Throughout the day Hermione had gone from sober to tipsy and back again, leaving her exhausted and headachey, dehydrated from the alcohol and the crying, sprawled on the sofa in front of the TV when they finally arrived at half past ten. Hermione looked up and saw a knowing look pass between Harry and Ginny, as if they were telepathically deciding the best course of action. After a few moments Harry went off to the kitchen without a word, and Ginny sat down next to Hermione, shoving aside her feet to make room on the sofa.

“How’re you doing?” she asked gently.

“Great.” Said Hermione flatly, “Sunshine and puppies. You?”

“Well, we won the match,”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you,”

“How- how’s Ron?” asked Hermione quietly after a long pause.

“You’ll have to talk to Harry about that I’m afraid,” sighed Ginny, “I didn’t even know about- about everything until after the match, and he just congratulated me quickly and disapparated.”

“Oh,”

“I mean, all things considered he seemed pretty good really, didn’t start a fight at the match or anything,”

“I know you’re joking, Gin, but seriously-”

“I don’t know, Hermione,” she sighed, “Look, I’m going to get an early night, I really am exhausted, but- just talk to Harry, ok?”

“Ok,” she murmured as Harry left the kitchen, setting down two steaming mugs of tea of the coffee table before taking a seat opposite them. Ginny gave Hermione’s leg a quick squeeze and smiled reassuringly, standing up.

“Night, love,” she murmured to Harry, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Night,” he mumbled, managing a strained smile, and Ginny shuffled off to her bedroom.

Neither of them said anything for a good few minutes, and Hermione thought she had just about worked up the courage when Ginny’s bedroom door opened again and she padded over to the bathroom.

More silence, broken eventually by the muted sound of the shower turning on. Harry sighed, and for a moment Hermione thought she could see just what he would look like in twenty years. He looked more tired than she had seen him in ages.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Hermione,” he sighed, “I mean, it’s not great.”

“I know that much,” she muttered, earning herself a weary scowl from Harry.

“You’re not helping.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed, “I’m sorry, Harry, I really am- I’m just sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry, Hermione,” he said tightly, “I want you to be happy.”

“I- goddamn it, Harry,” she managed as a lump formed in her throat. She sniffed and grabbed the tissues from the table, unable to stop the tears from falling yet again, tears of exhaustion, of gratitude and sorrow and uncertainty.

“I’ve really got to stop making you cry,” muttered Harry, reluctantly getting up to sit beside her on the sofa and give her a small squeeze. Hermione let out a teary laugh and dabbed at her eyes.

“I think I’m losing my mind,” she whispered when the tears subsided, “I feel like I’m just blowing up my whole life for- for-” she couldn’t finish the sentence, and just looked down at her knees miserably, unable to meet Harry’s eyes.

“I mean, maybe you are losing your mind a little,” said Harry, and Hermione looked up sharply, scowling at the barest hint of a smirk on his lips.

“Oh great, well that’s good to know-”

“I’m not going to pretend I understand what your mind is doing right now, Hermione, this whole thing is bloody incomprehensible, and Ron- well, Ron needs time and space, a lot of it. I’d give him a wide berth at work, and if you’ve got any control over Malfoy at all, I’d strongly advise you tell him to avoid Ron like the plague, or it’ll get ugly, no doubt about it.”

“Message received,” she murmured, feeling wretched.

“I don’t know, Hermione,” he said, ruffling his hair distractedly, “It’s just- I guess everyone’s allowed to lose their mind once in a while, right?”

Hermione sniffed and stared forwards, letting his words sink in. The bathroom door opened and Ginny slipped out in her dressing gown, her hair in a towel.

“Sorry, sorry,” she whispered, as she crossed the room, “Pretend I’m not here…”

Her bedroom door shut again and Harry turned to Hermione.

“Look, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re blowing up your whole life,” he said with a heavy sigh, “I hate the guy, but I like you. I _trust_ you, and if this is what you want at the moment, I- I think I can accept that much. At least for now.”

“Oh Harry,” she sniffed, throwing her arms around him and pulling him into a crushing hug. When they finally pulled apart, Harry looked slightly embarrassed, but pleased with her reaction.

“Ron loves you, Hermione,” he said with a slightly sad smile, “It’s just- he just needs to separate that from his hatred for Malfoy, you know?”

“When did you get so bloody wise?” she asked, half-irritable in an attempt to stop herself from tearing up again. Harry shrugged and gave her shoulder a light shove, grinning.

“I am the chosen one, right? That’s got to be worth a bit of wisdom here and there.”

“Ah, yes, of course, forgive me, oh chosen one.” She said with an eye roll and a mock curtsey.

“I just hope it’s worth it.” he said quietly, his grin fading slightly.

“Me too,” she murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing is hard right now, and it's always hard writing arguments like this, but hopefully this is the last bit of (proper) angst, and i can get back to writing stuff thats lighter and easier to write.   
Hopefully Ron doesn't come across as a complete asshole, I wanted to preserve a bit of him saying dumb shit as a knee-jerk reaction, but without being friendship-ruiningly horrible.


	37. Consequences of a Coin Flip, Redux

The next day, Ginny left to spend a few days with the boys, partly because her training schedule had been so hectic that she’d barely seen Harry for weeks, but Hermione was sure that her presence was also a safeguard against Ron sitting and seething by himself. Between the two of them they would probably have a decent chance of calming him down, and the quicker he calmed down, the quicker they could all start to go back to normal. Ginny’s absence was something of a mixed blessing, because though Hermione appreciated having a bit of space after yesterday’s drama, it gave her all too much time alone with her thoughts.

She felt hideously guilty about everything, and even though she had meant everything she’d told Ron about it being her decision and standing by it, she hated that she had hurt him. Even more than that, it had seemed like Ron genuinely believed that she had betrayed him and everything they had stood for during the war by becoming involved with Malfoy, the personification of everything he hated in the world. She didn’t really think he would believe it forever, but the mere fact that she knew that one of her two best friends in the world thought of her that way was enough to put a lump in her throat whenever she thought of it.

Ron’s words had hurt, but they hadn’t been wholly unexpected, nor did she really believe he actually meant them, not entirely anyway. It wasn’t the first time he had lost his temper, and he had a tendency to double down when he was really upset, or when he knew he was being unfair. He’d got much better over the years, but given the situation she wasn’t surprised that her news had made him regress a little, even if his words had cut her to the quick. They would get through it though, they always did, they had been through too much together not to.

But there was a reason she had told him in the first place and not just kept it a secret forever, and in any case, the damage was done now, so she chased away the worries as best she could when she caught herself over-thinking, and tried to concentrate on her book. It was late afternoon, and she made herself a cup of tea, cradling it happily in her hands as she settled back into her nest of the sofa and propped her book open in front of her. Unfortunately, she had sat down for barely five minutes before the doorbell rang, and she sighed. Hermione knew who it was before she even opened the door, because that’s just how her luck was running these days.

“I’d have thought you’d learnt your lesson by now,” she said flatly. “After the bloody mess you caused the last time you just turned up here.”

“Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment,” said Draco, shrugging and giving her a weak smile. Hermione didn’t have it in her to do anything but sigh resignedly and step aside to let him in.

“Not worried about Ginny hexing you anymore?” she asked as she flopped back down onto the sofa, picking up her tea again and blowing on it.

“If I worried about getting hexed by everyone who hated me I’d never get anything done.” He said dryly.

“Hmm,” she hummed, sipping her tea.

“So um, is she in?” he asked tentatively.

“No, you’re in luck. How’d you know I’d be here anyway?”

“I- well, I didn’t,” he said, hesitantly taking a seat on the other end of the sofa.

“So what, you were just going to stand there ringing the doorbell until you were convinced no one was in?” she said, raising an eyebrow at him “Very smooth.”

“I confess, I didn’t think that far ahead.” He said stiffly.

“Why are you here then?” she sighed wearily.

“I don’t know…” he muttered, looking away, “It’s just- the walls were closing in a bit, you know? I’m sure it won’t be a surprise to you that I don’t exactly get out much-”

“You desperately need to make some friends, you know that?” she snapped. She didn’t need to react so harshly, but as she had listened to his words she had felt sympathy, affection, then guilt, and then a surge of impotent, aimless anger that had somehow taken over.

“Well aren’t you full of joy and compassion today?” he said, scowling resentfully. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

“Just don’t fucking ask, Malfoy.” She snapped again, taking another swig of tea and swearing under her breath as it burnt her tongue. “I’m sick to death of explaining myself. I don’t even know why I let you in.”

“This is a bad time…” he said, half questioning, half understanding, and Hermione let out a bitter laugh.

“Quite observant, aren’t you? Well, that’s why one generally gives some sort of notice before just turning up at someone’s home.”

“I-sorry Granger, I’ll go,” He moved to stand up, but she sighed and waved at him to sit back down, her anger evaporating to leave a strange, fragile tiredness.

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m just- I’ve had a really shitty few days.”

“What-?”

“I told Ron.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh’.” She said, grimacing, “I had to tell him eventually, and I knew he probably wouldn’t react well, but it was still really fucking shitty, so you’ll forgive me if I’m not in the mood for our usual sparkling conversation.”

There were a few minutes of tense silence, before he finally sighed and looked over to her, a soft, questioning look on his usually sharp features.

“So why did you let me in?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” she replied, staring into her tea. She really didn’t know. “Why did you come here?”

“I don’t know,” he echoed, “Like I said, the walls were closing in, so I went for a walk, and then when I got back the place seemed even more claustrophobic somehow and- I just wanted to be somewhere _different_. So I came here. I probably should have owled first…”

“Probably.” She said shortly, but then she sighed and dropped her head back onto the back of the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. “And here I thought today was just going to be a nice, quiet day with me and a book.”

“I can go-”

“No, it- it’s probably not a terrible idea for both of us to have a bit of company.”

He gave her a small, tight smile which she returned before they both looked away. Hermione wasn’t really sure what she was doing. It certainly wasn’t the best idea to have him sitting around in her house barely twenty-four hours after she had broken the news to Ron, and she was sure that all hell would break loose if any of her friends caught Malfoy here, but something about his presence was, against all odds, calming. She knew why Ginny had gone to help Harry comfort Ron, and that this wouldn’t be an easy thing for any of them to get their heads around, but the unfortunate consequence of them getting some much needed space, was Hermione’s isolation, no matter how short-lived, and she found that despite everything, at this moment she was genuinely glad to have him here.

“So uh, were you really just going to sit and read all day?” he asked after a few minutes of awkward silence.

“This surprises you?”

“Hah, not in the slightest. It’s just-”

“So let me get this straight,” said Hermione, putting down her now empty mug on the table and fixing him with an incredulous look, “You turn up here without so much as a whisper of notice, not bothering to wonder if you’d be interrupting my day, and now you’re telling me my plans are too boring for you?” She sat back and watched him, and he at least had the grace to look mildly embarrassed.

“I didn’t say that,” he muttered, and Hermione chuckled.

“Honestly and you bloody crowing at every possible opportunity about how you were raised with _proper manners_.” She leant over and shoved him lightly in the shoulder. Ron had been right about one thing, if anyone deserved a bit of superficial mocking, it was him, though she’d never admit as much.

He smiled slightly ruefully and shrugged.

“I am an imperfect being, Granger. I’m big enough to admit it.”

“Oh yes, how very big of you,” she laughed, standing up, “Come on, I was going to make some lunch.”

“As long as it’s not more of that pizza, I think I’ve only just finished digesting the one from last time.” He said, wrinkling his nose and following her into the kitchen.

“Nah, had a curry on Friday,” she muttered, opening the fridge distractedly and peering inside, “What do you fancy? We’ve got plenty of pasta, or there’s- no that’s the sad salad from the curry, you don’t want that… or if you’re feeling really lazy we could just make a sandwich- what?” she stopped abruptly when she realised he was staring at her.

“Huh?”

“What are you staring at?” she asked, slightly amused at his deer in the headlights expression, as it wasn’t a look she saw often on him. It was actually almost endearing.

“What? Oh, nothing, it’s just- I wasn’t expecting to… cook…”

“Oh of course,” she said, grinning, “I forgot you don’t know how to make a sandwich.”

“Don’t be stupid, Granger, how hard can it be? It’s just stuff between two slices of bread.”

“Ok, that response is extremely disturbing,” she said matter-of-factly, “In that it unfortunately betrays that while you probably _could_ make a sandwich, you’ve never_ actually_ done so. Good lord, it really is a miracle you haven’t starved to death by now.”

“Oh, shut up,” he muttered, looking quite put out.

“Don’t be scared,” she teased, “It’s not so very different from potions.”

“I am _not-_”

“Come on, we’ll do some pasta,” she chuckled, cutting him off before he could sulk properly.

As it turned out, Draco was a surprisingly competent sous-chef, though it was hardly a complicated meal. Apparently she had been correct about the similarity to potions, because he seemed almost relieved at her instructions to crush the garlic and finely chop an onion, though she did have to clarify that both had to be _peeled_ first, narrowly avoiding having to pick out pieces of papery skin from the pan. When the sauce was happily bubbling away, she leant back on the counter and stretched her neck, producing a few satisfying clicks. When she opened her eyes, she found him watching her.

“What?” she asked warily.

“No, nothing, it’s just weird, don’t you think?”

“What is?”

“This, us. The normalcy.”

“Oh,” she said, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Well yeah, I suppose.”

She had forgotten for a moment there, but his words had reminded her why she had the house to herself in the first place, and she was once again overcome by shame and unease. She knew she didn’t really deserve to feel so awful, but that logic was doing very little for her actual emotions, which were currently fluctuating between wild, terrifying excitement and horrible, sickening guilt. Her emotional turmoil was not helped by the fact that Draco was standing there in front of her with his shirt sleeves rolled up looking positively edible. Maybe she shouldn’t have let him in after all…

She became aware of him watching her again and cleared her throat.

“Yes it is weird I suppose.” She managed, still not meeting his eye.

“So what do we do now?”

“What?” she said sharply, her mind cycling through every possible future for them in a split second. Would they date? Go to dinner and drinks like normal people and call each other boyfriend and girlfriend? Or would they just skulk around in secret until the novelty was well and truly burnt out between them? She wasn’t sure she was ready to face the answers- hell, she could barely face the _questions_.

“The sauce- what do we do now?” asked Draco quickly, and Hermione blinked for several seconds until her brain caught up.

“Oh- oh yes of course. Well um, we just let it cook for a bit and then-”

“Are you ok?”

“Yes I’m fine,” she said shortly, turning away from him to stir the sauce a bit more vigorously than was strictly necessary.

“Are you sure? You look a bit-”

“Fine!” she exclaimed, whipping around to face him in a sudden flash of rage, “I’m not ok! You win, are you happy?”

“What? No, I-”

“I’m exhausted, Draco, I’m heartbroken and I’m confused. Yesterday I told Ron about us and it’s entirely possible that I lost one of my best, oldest friends because of it, and I still have no fucking idea if it was even worth it. We’re standing here making-making fucking pasta as if it’s _normal_!”

“The pasta was your idea though…” he muttered, just a touch defensively.

“Yes, yes it was,” she said with a slightly manic laugh, “I just- I have no idea what I’m doing…” her shoulders slumped and she sighed.

He said nothing for several seconds, and Hermione didn’t dare meet his eyes, choosing instead to focus on a coffee stain on the counter. When he did speak, his voice was very quiet, and she thought it sounded thin, as if it had been stripped of his usual cocky confidence.

“Granger- Hermione. I don’t- I don’t know what you want to hear… I don’t know what I’m doing either.” He exhaled slowly, his voice even and controlled, “But I wanted to come here- wanted to see you.”

Hermione looked up at him then, and saw that he was frowning intently, as if he was battling a particularly tough brain teaser. She was in her own kitchen, on her home turf, but she felt paralysed, suddenly uncomfortable in her own skin, and worse than that, she was unable to come up with a single response to his admission. She just stood there silently, now unable to tear her eyes away from him.

“Sometimes the townhouse reminds me of the Manor.” He said, his tone still excruciatingly bland, “But this place, there’s paper everywhere and dirty mugs and clothes on the radiators and- it just feels like people live here, you know? It’s… surprisingly calming.”

Hermione’s first reaction to this was mild outrage, and she almost laughed bitterly and told him sarcastically how glad she was that he found the lower-class squalor she lived in so charming, but the expression on his face was so open, so uncomfortable and vulnerable that she stopped herself, scathing retort frozen on her lips.

“Oh,” she said, in lieu of a better response.

“I know that sounded like a veiled insult,” he said quietly, “But I don’t know how else to put it, this place feels real. _You_ feel real.”

He took a tentative step towards her, barely an inch closer, but in her cramped galley kitchen it felt like he was right on top of her, breathing her air and overwhelming her senses with his low breathing, his warmth and subtle scent. She held up a shaky hand and shuffled back into the counter, her heart in her throat.

“No, stop it,” she said, but her voice was weak in her ears.

He took another step forwards, slowly, so very slowly reaching out to place a hand on her waist, but she grabbed his wrist, staring desperately up into his eyes, deep grey like the sea on a rainy day.

“Hermione,” he murmured, bowing his head towards her so that she could feel the whisper of his breath stir the fine hairs on her neck. She shivered slightly, but set her jaw and held his gaze determinedly.

“Don’t,”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t touch me unless you mean it,” she whispered.

He stared at her for what felt like forever, the seconds stretching out until she was sure she had forgotten how to breathe, but then he shut his eyes for a moment and his stance relaxed slightly, almost imperceptibly. She didn’t know why she did it, but somewhere in her unconscious brain the signal was sent to her hand, and she released his wrist.

Draco opened his eyes as he finally rested his hand on her waist just above the waistband of her jeans, the warm weight of it sending a frisson up her spine.

“I mean it,” he sighed, and leant down to brush his lips against hers, “I mean it, Hermione,”

He kissed her again, so gentle that Hermione was almost afraid if she breathed too hard she would somehow break the moment into a million pieces. She felt a tingling warmth radiate out from her lips to the very tips of her fingers, and it felt as if her whole body sighed in relief. His lips moved with hers, soft and searching as he moved one hand up to cup her cheek, angling her head ever so slightly so that he could deepen the kiss and press himself closer to her. She let out a tiny whimper and reached out to place one hand on his chest, feeling his heart hammer beneath her palm.

Then several things happened in quick succession. Hermione smelt something funny, and Draco broke the kiss. She was almost disappointed, but realised quickly that they had been leaning up against the oven, where the sauce was still simmering away over a literal ring of fire.

“What’s that smell-?”

“It’s-”

“Shit- your hair!”

“Oh shit-”

She hurriedly stepped away, pulling her hair over her shoulder to smother the smouldering ends of her hair, and she was momentarily relieved to see that only a few hairs had caught, but her relief was short lived, because Draco’s wand was out and pointed at her.

“What the-” she began.

“Aguamenti!” he yelled, and before she could even raise her hands to protect her face, a jet of water sprung towards her, drenching her from head to toe and washing over the counter top and the hob behind her.

For several seconds there wasn’t a single noise except the heavy dripping of the water as it fell from Hermione’s clothes and hair. Draco’s eyes were wide and his mouth slack, some of his hair wet at the ends where the water had splashed onto him. Then his lip twitched, and she let out a tiny snort of laughter, and then they were both laughing, the sound seeming the echo around the room.

“Never a dull moment with you, is there?” she gasped when she finally managed to catch her breath.

“I aim to please,” he said with a wry smile, and just like that she was howling with laughter again.

“Well, the sauce is ruined,” she said between giggles.

“Should’ve put a lid on it, don’t blame me,” he snickered.

“Who the fuck else should I blame? Was it a _ghost_ who bloody shot a tsunami at me?”

“You were on fire!” he protested, though there was still the lilt of barely repressed mirth in his voice.

“Oh come on, I was barely singed,” she scoffed, grinning as she proffered the crispy ends of her hair as evidence. “It’s not the first time I’ve singed the ends of my hair, and I’m certain it won’t be the last.”

“You have a death wish, you know that?”

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” she said, giving him a light shove in the shoulder. “Just to be clear though, cooking is not usually so dramatic. Don’t let this turn you off it.”

He smiled wolfishly, somehow managing to look composed and confident despite the fact that a good forty percent of his front was drenched from the splash-back of his spell.

“As long as I get to keep kissing you like that, I can assure you my enthusiasm for cooking is entirely intact.” He cocked his head and his lip curled upwards, “Fire hazards aside, of course.”

“Of course.” She said dryly.

He grinned, and she turned around quickly to turn off the hob, though it had already been rather effectively extinguished. She picked up her wand and began to clear up the mess, drying the hob and the counter and the floor, but when she met his eyes again she hesitated.

“What?” she said, still holding her wand out in front of her.

He shook his head distractedly, then pushed her hand aside and pulled her to him, pressing his body against her so that she could feel the water soaking through her sodden clothes into his shirt. She let out a small squeak of protest, but then his lips crashed to hers again, and her mind went beautifully, terrifyingly blank.

She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, and in that moment all her worries about Ron and her friends, all her anxiety and uncertainty about the future simply fell away, and all that was left was them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter everyone!   
I confess I was smiling like an idiot for most of this chapter, i really am a sucker for even the tiniest hint of fluff.   
The next one will be the penultimate chapter, so stay tuned :)


	38. Here Comes the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both the smuttiest, and the fluffiest chapter yet, be warned ;)

Hermione kissed him like it was her last day on earth, as if her very life force was being sustained by the sheer, overwhelming sensation of his mouth on hers, his hands on her waist pulling her ever closer. Her t-shirt was still soaked and bunching up uncomfortably under her ribcage, but she didn’t care. Droplets of water kept dribbling down from her hair over her cheeks and neck, but she barely noticed.

Draco held her so tight that he almost lifted her off the floor, and she let out a small squeak of surprise as she almost lost her balance. He smiled against her lips and loosened his grip on her waist slightly. She raised herself on tiptoes, using one hand to steady herself on the countertop behind her and thrusting the other into his damp hair, resting it at the nape of his neck. He was so very warm, and as the chill began to spread under her drenched clothes she found herself pressing closer to him unconsciously, fisting her hand around his shirt and relishing the tantalising flash of heat as her knuckles brushed his bare skin. She undid a button one-handed, snaking her hand in so that she could rest her whole palm on his warm chest, and he shivered.

“Your hands are bloody freezing,” he mumbled, but it obviously didn’t bother him all that much, because he got right back to kissing her before he had even finished the last word. Hermione hummed appreciatively, basking in his warmth once again.

“And whose fault is that?” she murmured, nipping teasingly at his lower lip. “Here, I’ll just dry us off-”

“Oh no you don’t,” he said, quickly catching her wrist as she reached for her wand.

“What? Why not?”

He grinned and skimmed his hands over her waist to settle on her hips, his thumbs subtly pushing up her shirt a few inches so that he could touch her skin.

“Well, if you did that, I’d have to think up a whole new excuse to take your clothes off,” he said, his voice low and tight with barely controlled exhilaration.

“Oh god, please don’t tell me you flooded my kitchen just so you could-”

“Oh ye of little faith,” he said, his lip curling, “Of course I didn’t. Honestly, Hermione, if you recall, you were on _fire_.”

“I _wasn’t-_”

“Regardless, I’d hate to let an opportunity go to waste.”

“I’m sure.” She said flatly, raising a sardonic eyebrow, but she couldn’t disguise the muffled whimper that escaped her lips as he kissed her again.

It was as if she could feel some strange, wonderful energy racing through her nerves, crackling through her body to the tips of her fingers and toes, making her hair stand on end. She could almost imagine it was like the first time she’d held her wand back in Ollivanders all those years ago, warm and electrifying and _right_. He kissed her slowly, languidly, and sighed heavily when she slipped her hand into his shirt again, managing to clumsily undo another button.

“Better get out of these wet clothes then,” she murmured, and she felt rather than heard his chuckle.

“What an _interesting_ idea,” he hummed, leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth, then along her jaw.

“Oh, don’t be a twat,” she scoffed, but let out a rather embarrassing squawk as he gently nipped at the tender skin under her ear.

“So very rude,” he husked, continuing to kiss down her neck, but he didn’t sound very offended. His lips were like beacons of warmth, sending little shivers of pleasure down her spine with every touch, every caress of his tongue and every gentle rasp of his teeth against her neck. She whimpered, clenching her fist around his shirt. Somehow she had managed to undo half of the buttons now, without even realising she had been doing it.

He pulled away for a moment, looking down at her with an unreadable expression on his face. Then he kissed her again, the barest brush of his lips against hers before resting his forehead against hers, and when he spoke she could feel the soft buzz of his words in his chest where her palm rested.

“You are just- you are-”

Hermione smiled, a rush of silly, impossible joy taking her over.

“So are you,” she whispered, and he barked out a short, surprised laugh.

He leant back to look at her again, and she saw that he was beaming, a wide smile that was both light with contentment and heavy with unspoken gratitude. She smiled back and reached up to cup his jaw. He turned his head, lips brushing against the tip of her thumb, then he took her hand, kissing each one of her knuckles as Hermione watched, enthralled. He linked his fingers with hers and drew her to him once again.

Still kissing her as if he was worried that breaking contact would kill them both, he took half a step backwards, tugging on her hand and her waist to pull her towards the kitchen door. She stumbled forward, giggling as she tried to keep her balance while he swiped his tongue over her lower lip. They managed to get as far as the sofa, where he stopped, pushing her down so that she was half-sitting on the armrest. She toyed with his waistband, grinning at his sharp intake of breath as her fingertips grazed his hip. She felt him shudder as he braced himself on the sofa.

“Do you have any idea how little work I’ve got done in the last few weeks?” he growled, placing small, wet kisses down her neck. “I swear the only thing worse for my productivity than knowing I could sneak down to your office, is knowing that I couldn’t.”

“Don’t blame me for your lack of work ethic,” she managed, slightly breathless as he began to trace the shell of her ear with his tongue. She let out a soft moan as he nibbled her earlobe, and he leant back for a moment to give her a smug grin before leaning back down so that when he spoke, his breath tickled her neck.

“I saw you walking across the atrium in those blue high heels last week and I couldn’t concentrate all day, thinking about how I could just throw your leg over my shoulder, push your skirt up and-”

She cut him off with a kiss, dragging his head off her neck with a little more force than was probably necessary, but he grunted in satisfaction, his breathing ragged as he grabbed her arse with both hands, lifting her a little way off the armrest. Without breaking the kiss, she stood up and walked him backwards, navigating around the sofa until she could push him up against the wall next to her bedroom door. The position was slightly awkward as he towered over her, craning his neck to reach her lips as she stood on tiptoes and linked her hands around his neck to steady herself.

When she finally broke the kiss, Hermione was panting, every atom in her body screaming to be closer to him. She slid her hand inside his shirt to pull it aside so she could kiss his chest, and he groaned in response, grinding his hips into her. She pulled away and gave him a small smile.

“I might have been a little distracted at work myself,” she murmured.

“Distracted? You?” he said in mock horror, though his eyes were dark and his lips swollen, a warm flush creeping over his pale skin, which made his dismay even less convincing. His lip curled upwards. “I’m shocked.”

“Mhmm, I’m sure you are,” she said, rolling her eyes and running her hands down his torso to undo the last button of his shirt.

“Shocked and appalled.” He said, slowly skimming his hands down her sides until he reached her jeans, deftly undoing the button with a flick of his wrist.

Hermione gave him a sly grin and reached behind him to open her bedroom door. He grabbed her hips and turned her around so that he could walk her backwards, clumsily slamming the door shut behind them. Draco pushed her back onto the bed, , but she sat up quickly and began to undo his belt.

There was a flurry of movement as they tore at each other’s clothes, and for a minute the only sound in the darkened room was the soft thumps as their clothes hit the floor and their murmured sighs of mingled excitement and relief. When Draco finally flung his boxers into a corner, Hermione wasted no time in hauling him onto the bed with her, finally winding herself around him, skin to skin. He shoved his leg between hers, and she felt the insistent pressure of his erection against her thigh. She rolled her hips and moaned into his mouth in response, making him groan softly and twist them around so that he lay over her, bracing himself with one hand clenched around a pillow while the other one skimmed her ribcage, up to trace her collarbone and down again over her breasts, pausing for a moment to roll her nipple between his fingertips. Hermione whimpered and bucked her hips at the contact, the tiniest hint of pain as he squeezed gently, but he just smiled against her lips and pulled her over so they were side by side again.

They lay like that for a while, just kissing and touching and moving together without either of them rushing to go further, content as they were for the moment to just relish the sensation, the strange yet wonderful experience of just being so very close. Hermione distantly wondered when this had become so familiar, so natural, the warm weight of his hand on her hip, the soft, citrusy scent of whatever shampoo or soap he used and the rhythmic motion of his body against hers. She had enjoyed herself when they had been together before, no doubt about that, but there was something about not having to constantly police her feelings about him that made her feel light, practically effervescent.

She could already feel herself unravelling though, each bit of friction seemed to burn into her, every tentative scrape of his teeth on her skin making her gasps and moans a little louder. He groaned, the sound low and rough, rumbling through Hermione like an avalanche. She shuddered against him and he threaded his fingers through her hair, pushing it gently off her face as he leaned back a few inches. He watched her as if she was some fascinating, exotic creature, his eyes hungry, almost unnerving in their intensity. He traced his thumb over her cheekbone and dragged it over her lower lip.

“I missed this,” he murmured, so quiet that Hermione almost didn’t hear him, and the words seemed to take a long time to reach her brain.

“You did?” she whispered, somehow still ever so slightly disbelieving that Draco Malfoy could express such tenderness towards her.

“Yeah,” he rumbled, and Hermione got the feeling that he was about to say something else, but he fell silent, the barest hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he played absentmindedly with a lock of her hair, tugging on it gently and watching as it sprung back into its curl. She smiled, reaching up to brush her knuckles over the sharp line of his jaw, snaking her hand up and into his hair, letting her nails scrape his scalp ever so slightly.

“_Fuck,”_ he breathed, his hips twitching and his eyes fluttering closed.

She watched him, enraptured, and suddenly all the indulgent, lazy slowness was gone, replaced by raw, urgent _need_. She surged forwards, claiming his lips roughly and pulling him back on top of her. He moaned throatily, easing her thighs apart with his knee and sending a thrill of want shuddering through her. Her rational mind had long taken the back seat, leaving no thought in her mind but the desperate, overwhelming need to have him _right fucking now_. She locked eyes with him and in that moment she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he felt the same.

He reached down to pull her hips to him and she eagerly obliged, shuffling over the rumpled duvet until they were finally level. She canted her hips impatiently, desperate to _feel_ him, but he just gave her a small, tight smile, his hair falling into his face as he pumped himself slowly, never taking his eyes off her. When he finally pushed into her, they both groaned, Hermione’s eyes fluttering closed as she took a moment to simply bask in the sensation.

Not the first time, not the last either if she had anything to say about it, but different from their other times together. Beautifully, achingly different.

She opened her eyes and found him watching her again, and a soft gasp escaped her lips as he slowly began to move, and when she hooked her heel behind his arse he groaned loudly, burying his head in the crook of her neck. He grabbed her thigh, holding it in place as he began to thrust again, and she reached up, clutching at his shoulder blade.

Time melted away, slinking into the background until all she was aware of was him and the impossible closeness she felt as they moved together. Their sighs and moans became louder and more insistent, his raw, throaty groans mingling with her high, breathy gasps as they came undone together.

“God you feel- you- you’re perfect,” he hissed, leaning down to claim her lips in a searing, forceful kiss that left her breathless.

The feel of his tongue sliding against hers as he moved inside her pushed her over the edge, and she scrabbled at his back, clenching her other hand in his hair as she threw her head back, breaking the kiss and letting out a keening, broken gasp as every nerve in her body lit up.

“Oh- oh god-” she whimpered, barely able to form words, “Oh- _Draco_!”

Waves crashed, the earth moved, and every other cliché she could imagine happened as she clung to him, powerless to do anything but feel _this_. On the edge of her awareness she heard him moan, his fingers digging into her thigh as he moved faster, and even as the waves of pleasure began to calm Hermione kept moaning his name, still holding onto him for dear life.

“Draco,” she sighed, still shivering with little shocks of pleasure.

“Fucking- you’re fucking perfect,” he growled.

“_Draco_,”

He let out a broken shout and slammed into her, and she couldn’t help but moan again, digging her heels into his back with her hand still clenched in his hair.

“Hermione- oh- _oh fuck_!” he said her name like a prayer, groaning and burying his face in her hair as he came.

He groaned loudly into her neck, then again, quieter and quieter as his hips stilled. Hermione let go of his hair, but couldn’t bring herself to move otherwise, her ankles still linked around his waist. Eventually he pulled away with a shuddering moan and collapsed besides her as she carefully lowered her legs, wincing slightly at the stiffness in her muscles from holding that position for so long.

She stared up at the ceiling, feeling her frenetic heart begin to slow down and listening to his heavy breathing next to her. She chanced a sideways glance at him. His arm was flung over his eyes, his hair sticking up at odd angles and his chest heaving under a thin sheen of sweat. Hermione couldn’t help it; she smiled, the kind of smile that couldn’t be suppressed , that lifted her whole face and almost made her cheeks ache.

“I can feel you staring at me,” he muttered, finally lowering his arm so that he could peek out at her, tired amusement tugging at his lip.

“I missed this too,” she murmured, rolling onto her side and hesitantly resting her hand on his chest, a tiny part of her still wondering how much intimacy was too much. She needn’t have worried though, because he let out a long, low sigh, placing his hand over hers and burrowing the other under her neck so that he could wrap his arm around her. Hermione sighed contentedly and he let out a shaky, incredulous laugh, dropping his head back onto her pillow.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he said, his voice rough and sleepy, “I think you broke me, Hermione.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said quietly, stifling a yawn and instinctively shuffling closer to his warmth as the impossible heat from earlier began to dissapate.

“It was intended as one,” he murmured, stroking his thumb over her shoulder.

“Mhmm,”

“It was!”

“I believe you, I’m just tired.”

“Oh,”

They lay in silence for a while, their limp bodies too tired and sated to move. Somewhere in the back of Hermione’s hazy mind she thought how utterly glorious this simple indulgence was; just to be able to lie together like this and revel in each other’s presence. Time still felt sluggish and unpredictable, at some point she managed to summon the energy to drag herself out of bed to go the bathroom and clean herself up, and she knew it was far too early to sleep, but she simply couldn’t find the will to do anything other than crawl back into bed.

Draco had shuffled under the duvet while she’d been gone, and as soon as she got to the bed he reached out and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a slow, indulgent kiss to her lips. Hermione smiled again, pushing his hair out of his eyes and settling happily into the bed.

“We’ll have to actually eat something at some point,” she said vaguely.

“I have a horrible feeling that means getting out of bed…”

“I know, I know,” she giggled, “But we can’t stay here forever,”

“No?” he murmured, nuzzling her neck and making her shiver.

“Well for one thing there’s work tomorrow,” she said, unable to stop herself grinning as he kissed along her jaw. “Plus Ginny’ll be back eventually,”

“Spoilsport.” He muttered, nipping gently at her neck. “Wait- when’s she back?”

“Probably not for a few days, she’s staying with Harry for a while. Why?”

He leant back a little and grinned lopsidedly.

“Well I was asking because I didn’t want to get caught taking a piss or something and get hexed into oblivion, _but_, what I heard you say is that you actually have the house to yourself for the entire evening,”

“Well, yeah,”

“Now that _is_ good news,” he purred, gently threading his fingers through her hair. She rolled her eyes, but smiled and turned her head to kiss his hand, making him let out a quiet, throaty noise she suspected was entirely involuntary.

“It is nice to have the house to myself,” she said softly.

“We’ll have to make the most of it then,” He said with a chuckle.

He tilted her chin up with his knuckle, burying his other hand in her hair and pulling her into a desperate, messy kiss that seemed to be over far too quickly.

“Wait,” he said, leaning back a touch and frowning. “I don’t want to assume-”

“What?”

“I- well, I’d like to stay, if that’s alright with you, but if-”

“Oh,” she said, surprise getting the better of her.

“Forget it-”

“No, I didn’t mean- it’s just there’s work tomorrow and-”

“You don’t have to make excuses, it’s not a big deal,” he said, smiling and shrugging one shoulder.

“I’m not!” she huffed, frowning at him in frustration. To her annoyance, but honestly not to her surprise, his moment of uncharacteristic shyness had disappeared as quickly as it had come, and there was the hint of a smirk on his lips, as if he was trying not to laugh at something. “What?” she demanded.

“It’s just- I’m sorry but I don’t know how you can be so indignant right now,” his smirk widened and he chuckled, raising an eyebrow at her, “Even after all _that_,” he ran his hand along her thigh to illustrate his point.

“I am _not_ indignant,” she exclaimed, before realising that her snappy tone did not help her case. She took a deep breath and tried to sound a bit calmer. “I’m not, really,”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, “Honestly, you’re so tightly wound it’s a miracle you haven’t had a heart attack.”

“You are infuriating.” She said matter-of-factly, and he chuckled, looking entirely unrepentant.

“And you are so very, very easy to annoy,” he murmured, and while Hermione knew this should annoy her even more, his tone was gentle, softened with an undertone of genuine affection, and it made her stomach swoop.

“Oh be quiet,” she said, but her heart wasn’t in it, and she wasn’t able to stop herself from smiling. “I- look, if you want to stay-”

“You don’t-”

“Draco,” she said, resting her hand on his waist, “Stay.”

“Really?”

“Sure, like you said it’s not a big deal,” she said, shrugging nonchalantly but still smiling widely. “But I’m assuming you’re not just going to go to work in those clothes-”

“Ah it’s fine, I can just apparate back to my place tomorrow morning, I can be a few minutes late every now and again.”

“Ok,” she said, feeling both nervous and excited, as if the world was suddenly alight with possibilities.

He smiled at her, and neither of them said anything for several minutes.

“We’re really doing this, then?” she whispered, flicking her eyes up to meet his.

“Yup,” he said simply.

“This isn’t going to be easy, you know.” She said with a small grin.

He returned her smile, looking as smug and self-satisfied as she’d ever seen him, and she found that she actually found his confidence rather endearing.

“It’s not going to be boring though,”

He had a twinkle of mischief in his eyes and a crooked grin that promised nothing but trouble, and that moment Hermione knew that he was right. It might have been wrong, it might have been a thousand things, but it certainly wasn’t going to be boring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It know it was a long wait for this one, hopefully it's worth it, some unrepentant fuzzy fluff for all of you lovely readers.   
:)
> 
> Just the epilogue to go now, and i've got most of that already written, so it shouldn't be so long until the last chapter.


	39. To Unpathed Waters, Undreamed Shores.

**Eighteen Months Later**

“I don’t know what you’re so skittish about, it’s not _your_ wedding,” scoffed Hermione as she brushed imaginary dust off his shoulders. Truth be told he was immaculately dressed as usual, but she was rather enjoying spending an indulgent few seconds to take him in, all dressed up in his fancy dress robes.

“No, it’s just my lifelong enemy’s wedding,” muttered Draco sulkily, “To which I wasn’t even invited, by the way.”

“What? Yes you were.”

“_You _got invited with a plus one, it’s not the same.”

“Well who the hell did he think I’d bring?” she laughed, “Filch?”

“He might be happier if you did,” he said sourly, “Him and Weasley both.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, Draco,” she said dryly, “The wedding’s at the Burrow, every other person there will be a Weasley.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“I swear you get like this _every_ time we see them, Draco!” she exclaimed, rolling her eyes in affectionate exasperation, “All nervous and grumpy, and it’s _always_ fine.”

“Why am I doing this again?” he grunted, clearly choosing not to acknowledge her statement.

“Because I asked you,” she said lightly, fiddling with his tie, “And because it was a big deal for Harry to invite you, and you are going to reward his trust by not being a prick. I know you’ve got it in you.”

“So I’ve been told.” He sighed, giving her a reluctant grin.

“Good. I’d better get going, Ginny’ll have my head if I’m late.”

“Ok, I’ll see you there then?”

“Mhmm, just be nice, ok?”

“Easy for you to say, they all love you. Anyway, when have you literally ever known me to be _nice_?”

“Oh for- ok fine, if you’re really worried just try to stick with Charlie, he’s the shortest one. He’s probably the most easygoing and he wasn’t at Hogwarts with us, which I’m sure you’ll agree works in your favour.”

“Oh. Great.” he said flatly.

“You’ll be fine,” she said, smiling reassuringly at him and resting her hand on his shoulder. “Once the ceremony is over I’ll come join you.”

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he said quietly, returning her smile.

Hermione beamed, she had spend longer than she cared to admit wrangling her hair into an elegant half-updo, and when she’d looked at herself in the mirror in the deep purple gown that Ginny had picked for her bridesmaids, she had felt like she had at the Yule Ball all those years ago, the first time she’d ever really felt beautiful.

“Thanks,” she murmured, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“I know how you like me in a suit,” he husked, the corner of his mouth curling as he leant down to press a kiss to her jaw. She smiled despite herself and ran her hands over his chest.

“I really have to go, Draco,” she said as he kissed the corner of her mouth.

“Sure you can’t be just a little tiny bit late?” he purred, running his hand over her bare shoulder.

“I really can’t,” she said, but even to her own ears it didn’t sound very convincing. “Unless _you_ fancy explaining it to Ginny?”

He brushed her hair over her shoulder, making her shiver, and finally leant down to capture her lips in a searing kiss. She sighed and melted against him, hands clutching at the lapels of his dress robes. She wasn’t so very late after all, and the actual wedding wouldn’t start for a good hour…

“No!” she said, pushing him away and slapping his chest half-heartedly, “I have to go Draco.”

“Spoilsport,” he said, smirking.

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Sure,”

“Oh and by the way, don’t eat or drink _anything_ that George gives you.”

“Wait, what?”

“Bye!”

***

Hermione had already been at the Burrow since early that morning and had only popped back for half an hour to check on Draco, but when she’d left Ginny had been pyjama clad while she sat and finished her makeup, now she was fully dressed and resplendent, looking like some ancient goddess as she stood on a small stool while Fleur adjusted her hem. She really did look gorgeous, the delicate silver lace twinkled magically in the light and accentuated her coppery hair, and Hermione couldn’t help but sigh and smile widely.

“What?” demanded Ginny, clearly getting a bit sick of being ogled and adjusted by everyone who passed.

“Nothing,” said Hermione quickly, “It’s just- you really do look beautiful.”

“Ugh, you’ve got that look on your face again,” she scoffed.

“What look?” she asked innocently.

“That syrupy, ‘ooh look at me, I’m in love! I was sucking face ten seconds ago!’ look. It’s disgusting.”

“Ginny, it’s your _wedding day_! How can you possibly be so cynical?” exclaimed Hermione incredulously.

“No, I agree wiz ‘er,” said Fleur, who had moved to Ginny’s elbow and was now adjusting her veil, “It is disgusting.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Fleur had become noticeably more prickly since she’d entered her seventh month of pregnancy, and she hadn’t exactly been easygoing to begin with.

“_Thank you, _Fleur,” said Ginny smugly, “You can believe in love without being gross about it. Oh don’t look at me like that, you know I’m only joking.”

“I’m not.” Said Fleur under her breath, but gave Hermione a quick smile anyway. “Forgive me ‘ermione, I am just irritable because zis ridiculous child is pressing on my bladder and refusing to allow me to eat any meat.”

“It’s ok,” she started, but Fleur cut her off sharply with a rapid, frustrated string of French. Hermione recognised a few swearwords and the word ‘toilet’, but Fleur quickly stood up and rushed off before she could ask, presumably to the bathroom.

“She’ll be fine,” said Ginny in explanation, “She’s been having to rush off mid-sentence to go to the loo all day.”

“I can’t blame her for being irritable,”

“Yeah I know,” grinned Ginny.

There was a short pause, and Hermione could hear Molly in the other room chastising George for some damn thing.

“You know I’m happy for you, right Hermione?” said Ginny suddenly, looking uncharacteristically self-conscious.

“Of course,” she said quietly.

“Because I know it’s not been easy or anything, and I know there’s been a few times that-”

“Ginny, I know.” She said softly, taking Ginny’s hands in hers and smiling reassuringly, “Don’t worry about that anyway, it’s your wedding day!”

“Oh my god, it’s my wedding day.” She said, grimacing, “How _weird_ is this though?”

“Not getting cold feet are you?” asked Hermione, nudging her with her elbow.

“Course not, I love Harry, it’s just-”

“Yeah, it is a bit weird,” said Hermione with a small laugh. “I’m so, so _stupidly_ happy for you both though,”

“Thanks,” said Ginny quietly, “I’m happy too,”

“Good,”

She smiled, and for a moment she was worried she might shed a tear. Ginny looked the same, almost but not quite misty eyed as she leant down to pull Hermione into a hug. It was a slightly awkward hug with all of the lace and floaty fabric of their skirts and Ginny’s veil, but even so Hermione felt as if her heart might burst.

There was a knock on the door and both of them turned to see Ron poking his head around the doorframe, tie loose around his neck and shirt sleeves rolled up. He opened his mouth to say something, but Fleur beat him to it, scoffing irritably as she rounded on him on her way back from the bathroom.

“Ugh, Ron, ‘ow can you possibly still be this scruffy when we will be starting so soon?”

“I-” he began, shooting Hermione a fleeting, half-nervous, half-annoyed look.

“_C’est un poignet – _this is a double cuff Ron,” she said, grabbing his wrists and beginning to roll down his sleeves as she switched abruptly to English mid-sentence, “You are not supposed to roll it up like zat, it will fray the-”

“Who cares? It’s only for one day!” blurted Ron, but then hung his head as he was cowered under the combined strength of Ginny, Fleur and Hermione’s glare. “Fine.” He muttered, holding his wrists out so Fleur could fix it.

“Where are your cufflinks?” asked Fleur imperiously.

“They’re back with Harry- Just give me a moment will you? You’re worse than mum…” he snapped, shooing her away.

Fleur stalked back to her chair with a haughty sniff, clearly unhappy being compared to Molly.

“What is it, Ron?” asked Ginny.

“Just came down to see if you’re ready, we reckon we’ll be ready to go pretty soon.”

“Really? Your tie isn’t even tied!” said Hermione incredulously.

“That takes ten seconds, so do the cufflinks. Honestly, what is it about formal wear that makes you lot throw a collective hissy fit?”

“And by ‘you lot’, you mean…?” asked Ginny, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Uh…”

“Yes, that’s what I thought.”

“Just go and finish getting ready Ron,” said Hermione, feeling a bit sorry for him. If nothing else he was outnumbered, and the last thing anyone needed right now was a sibling spat.

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, “So… I mean, it’ll be pretty soon, so how about it, Gin? You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” said Ginny, smiling and suddenly looking utterly radiant. Ron smiled and chuckled to himself. “What?” demanded Ginny, her smile slipping slightly.

“It’s nothing,” said Ron, “It’s just that’s exactly what Harry said when I asked him.”

***

It was later. The ceremony was over, tears had been shed, a great many glasses of champagne had been clinked and the party was in full swing. The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows over the surrounding hills and painting the sky in magnificent pinks and violets.

Hermione stood leant up against the house chatting to a rather tipsy Neville about the floral arrangements, which apparently caused a quite spectacular swelling effect if ingested. She had lost track of Draco at some point, though she had to admit, she had been impressed by everyone’s conduct this evening. No fights, no venomous looks, quite a lot of awkwardness and stilted small-talk, but that was to be expected, and she even caught him actually laughing at one of Charlie’s jokes, though he saw her watching and immediately composed himself. Ron was distracted by the incredible feast that had barely diminished even now everyone had eaten, the rest of the Weasleys and her friends were too happy to just be together again, and Harry and Ginny were too wrapped up in their own joy to even notice him.

Eventually Neville left her to get some more food, and Hermione just stood and watched the dancing for a few minutes, smiling to herself and sipping her drink. She drained the glass and set it down on a spindly silver table next to her, scanning the sea of heads for a shock of white blonde hair.

“Hmm.” She hummed to herself when she couldn’t spot him. Though today had been an unmitigated success so far, she couldn’t help but worry where he had wandered off to. Draco had made great strides in his ability to stop himself putting his foot in his mouth, but even so, with the alcohol flowing and the shared history of most of the guests, there was still the potential for some… unpleasantness.

She made her way to the house and into the kitchen, which was a chaotic blur of activity despite the generally relaxed atmosphere. The hallway was quieter, and Hermione found herself surprisingly relieved at the sudden lack of boisterous revelry, though she had been enjoying it just a few minutes ago. The reception was lovely, but it was nice to get a moment of calm. She walked over to the sitting room, intending to hide out on one of the squashy sofas for a few minutes, but to her surprise it was occupied.

Draco and Percy Weasley were sitting on the sofa, holding identical glasses of whiskey and talking animatedly about work, some new regulation that had come in recently. Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled all the same. So very typical of both of them to get away from a wedding only to talk about work. She leant against the doorframe, content for a moment to watch them, but it was barely ten seconds before they noticed her.

“Oh, Hermione,” said Percy, standing up hurriedly, but Hermione gestured for him to sit back down, dropping down next to them.

“Don’t stand up, Percy, it’s fine.”

“We were just-” Draco started, looking guilty.

“Yeah, I heard,” she laughed, “Really, Percy? Bringing the office to your baby sister’s wedding?”

“Well, I-” he blustered.

“I’m only joking,” she said quickly, smiling, “It’s nice to see that-”

“Nice to see that I haven’t got myself forcibly kicked out yet?” asked Draco, raising an eyebrow at her.

“No! Well, yes, but I didn’t actually think that-”

“I’ll um, I’ll leave you two to it…” said Percy, picking up his glass and refilling it from the large whiskey bottle on the coffee table.

“Oh don’t be so silly, you don’t have to leave,” said Hermione, but Percy had already stood up.

“Ah, it’s not really because of you,” he said, giving them a slightly rueful grin, “You’re right, Hermione, that’s enough work for one day. Besides, I promised mum I’d keep an eye on George.”

Hermione smiled back and Draco held his hand out for Percy to shake, which he did. He gave them a quick nod before finally making his way back out to the party, leaving the two of them alone for the first time since that morning.

“I wasn’t hiding.” Said Draco after a few moments, giving her a sidelong glance.

“I never said you were!”

“Hmm…”

“God, you are so defensive,” she teased, shuffling a few inches closer as he put his arm around her shoulder.

“Ok fine, I was hiding.” He said into her hair.

“Oh for-”

“But only because Loony-”

“_Luna_! Don’t be a wanker.”

“Anyway, she kept following me around and waving her arms around me-”

“Wrackspurts?”

“What? Yes, how did you know?”

Hermione just shrugged knowingly.

“Trust me,” she said after a small pause, “She grows on you.”

“I’ll take your word for that,” he muttered.

They sat like that in silence for a few minutes, Hermione resting her head on his shoulder and enjoying their little oasis as outside, the music came to a loud crescendo before changing smoothly into something slightly slower. Hermione sighed and stood up, patting his shoulder.

“Come on, we’d better get back out there.”

“Wait,” he stood up and grabbed her wrist, tugging her towards him.

“What?”

“I- shall we dance?”

“Sure, let’s just-” she turned around and began to pull him back towards the dance floor, but he stood his ground and pulled her back, this time holding her a little closer, his hands warm on her waist.

“Just for a bit,” he murmured, “It’s the first time I’ve had you to myself all day.”

Hermione smiled, suddenly feeling a warm fluttering sensation in her stomach that had nothing to do with the alcohol. She leaned into him and linked her hands around his neck.

“When you put it like that…”

He chuckled and held her close as they gently swayed to the muffled music. Neither of them said anything for a while, and for once in her life, Hermione’s mind was quiet.

“I’m really proud of you, you know,” she murmured into his neck.

“Really?” he replied, an edge of amused incredulity to his voice.

“Of course!” she said, leaning back to look at him. “I- seeing you here talking to my friends and everything and being normal and laughing, it’s- it’s perfect.”

“Really?” he repeated, and now his voice was low and quiet, as if he didn’t quite believe her. She smiled up at him and pressed a short kiss to his lips.

“Really.”

He beamed and gently caressed her jaw, angling it up so he could kiss her. The kiss was slow, but longer and more indulgent than the last, and Hermione couldn’t help but let out a small sigh when he finally pulled away.

“So…”

“What?” she asked, brain still feeling fuzzy from the kiss and all the champagne.

“So Ginny’s going to live with Potter, right?”

“You’re at his _wedding_, Draco, you can use his first name.” she said dryly.

“Still feels wrong somehow.”

“Ugh, you are _ridiculous_, the two of you-”

“Anyway,” he said, squeezing her waist in the spot he knew she was ticklish to shut her up. “By my estimation that means you’re down a roommate, yes?”

“I- well yes, that’s right,”

“So- well, I was thinking-”

“Draco Malfoy, are you trying to ask to move in with me?” she blurted, her voice a little harsher and a little more breathless than she had intended.

“Well, yeah,” he said, looking rather put out, “That was what the gist of my whole speech was _going_ to be, until you bloody interrupted it.”

“Sorry.”

“Yes I’m sure you are.” He said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at her.

“I am!” she lied. He just shook his head and grinned.

“So how about it?”

“I- well, I hate your place-”

“So do I.”

“-and there is no way in hell I am having a house elf in my house-”

“Yes, I am painfully aware of that fact.”

“-for one thing where would we even put her? Ugh, look at me. I’m talking about Pattie as if she’s a bloody winter coat. I hate it. This is why I don’t even- I just don’t even want to go there, you know?”

“Hermione,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and speaking quietly but firmly. “I like your place, but I’d be perfectly happy to get a new place together if you’d rather. That is if you actually want to-”

“Yes,” she said, interrupting him, “Yes, I want to. Fuck it.”

He beamed again, and pulled her into a kiss that banished every thought from her mind. When they finally broke apart he was still smiling, but he took a step backwards, holding his hand out gallantly.

“Shall we then?” he asked.

Hermione cocked her head and smiled, marvelling at how that arrogant, presumptuous little shit from all of those years ago had morphed into the man in front of her, all sharp wit and charm tempered by a surprisingly self-deprecating sense of humour.

She loved him. He loved her.

They hadn’t said it yet, but she knew it.

She took his hand and for a moment they just stood there looking at each other, one perfect moment away from everything else. Then they shared a small, secret smile, and walked back out into the world together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, this has been a long road. I'm not going to lie, I've been putting off writing this because I think I'm so reluctant for it to end.  
Thank you all so very much for reading, your lovely comments and kudos are genuinely most of the reason that this fic ended up being as long as it is, and I've absolutely loved writing it.  
Ok, i'll sign off before I start getting emotional.  
Sending all the love and hugs to all of you for being so wonderfully supportive, and i'm so very glad so many of you enjoyed reading!


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